


Cosmere Hunger Games

by OctolingO



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: And Valette is here, Bleeder is here too, Blood, Gen, Hunger Games AU, Hurt/Comfort, I cant think of more tags but Ill probably add more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctolingO/pseuds/OctolingO
Summary: Every year, 24 teens are Reaped for the Hunger Games: A competition where they must kill each other; last person standing wins. This year, the Tributes include Adolin Kholin, Lift, Breeze, Wayne, and Jasnah Kholin, just to name a few.Also, Renarin and Jasnah are siblings, Dalinar is their uncle, and Adolin is Renarin's cousin just to clear that up
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. The Reaping and the Journey to the Captiol

“Welcome, citizens of District 12, to the Hunger Games Reaping! Let’s get right down to business.” Hoid straightened his elaborate black mask. “Male Tribute: Wayne.” A scruffy-looking young man, maybe 16, stepped up next to Hoid. “No last name, eh?” The black-dressed man joked. Wayne turned and stared Hoid right in the eyes.

“No. You don’t seem to have one either, sir.” Wayne retorted, perfectly mimicking Hoid’s accent. The crowd murmured to themselves as Hoid and Wayne had a staring contest. Hoid eventually looked away.

“Anyways, on to the female Tribute!” Hoid selected a slip of paper from the bowl. “Vin.” He called, voice echoing. A girl walked up to the podium, short dark hair hiding part of her face. “You guys must really hate last names.” Hoid muttered. “Happy Hunger Games!” 

Hoid’s call was met with silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Male Tribute for District 11: Kelsier.” Hoid said. A boy with cunning eyes and a charismatic smile walked up next to Hoid.  _ He might win, sponsors would certainly like that face.  _ Hoid thought. 

“Female Tribute: Venli.” A tall and thin girl, pale as paper and heavily tattooed with red and black—to the point where it was near impossible to tell what her actual skin color was—gracefully strode, almost floated, up next to Hoid. “Happy Hunger Games, District 11.” Hoid said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, District 10! No dawdling; we’re just going to start right now!” Hoid said, already reaching to grab a slip of paper from a bowl. “Alrighty then, male Tribute is  Numu..hu..ku..mak..” Hoid struggled to pronounce the obviously long name on the paper he was holding.

“Rock. I am Rock.” The Tribute said in a deep voice as he walked up to the podium. 

“Great! That’s easier to pronounce.” Hoid chuckled, patting Rock on the back. Hoid selected another paper. “And our wonderful female Tribute is Eshonai!” A muscular girl, with skin the color of coals and red markings covering her body, stepped up beside Rock. She did not say anything, only nodded politely to Hoid and Rock. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Tributes of District 10!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Male Tribute: Oroden Stormblessed.” A boy, probably only about 12, set his jaw and began walking towards Hoid. A ripple of sympathy passed through the crowd.

“Wait! Wait! Stop!” Another boy shouted. He pushed through the people, grabbing Oroden and yanking him back. “I’ll do it instead! I volunteer!” The boy said something to Oroden, then walked up to stand beside Hoid. 

“What’s your name, young man?” Hoid asked. 

“Kaladin Stormblessed.” He replied.

“Well then,” Hoid raised his voice, “Kaladin Stormblessed of District 9! Now, onto the female Tribute.” Hoid squinted at the paper—that couldn’t be her actual name, could it?

“Bleeder.” Hoid said. A girl walked up besides Hoid. She had pale, almost white hair and Hoid noticed with a jolt that her eyes were two different colors: one blue, one a shocking purple. She grinned at him. “Our District 9 Tributes!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Greetings, District 8! Let’s meet our Tributes for the 53rd Hunger Games!” Hoid snatched a piece of paper from the container. The name there was written in a shaky script, mostly jagged lines. “The male Tribute is Renarin Kholin.” A boy walked out of the crowd, nervously pushing his glasses up on his nose. Hoid sighed.  _ He doesn’t stand a chance.  _ Renarin took his place on Hoid’s right, frantically fiddling with a loop of string in his fingers. “Your female Tribute is...Jasnah Kholin!” An elegant girl, wearing an equally elegant dress, strode up to Hoid’s left. She clutched a book in her hands, her white knuckles the only giveaway to how nervous she truly was.  _ Two scholar ones. They’ll probably team up and die together.  _ “Here are your Tributes!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Spook is our Male Tribute for District 7!” A boy stepped up, wearing a—was that a sock?—over his eyes like a blindfold. “And the female Tribute is Lift!” A young girl with messy brown hair trotted up, standing next to Spook. “May the odds be ever in your favor!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The male Tribute for District 6 is Kabsal!” Hoid shouted. The boy strode up, looking terribly nervous. However, Hoid could detect an air of complete cockiness behind his eyes.  _ Brat.  _ Hoid reached into the female Tribute bowl as Kabsal stood besides Hoid. “Steris Harms will be taking the spot for female Tribute!” He called out. A girl anxiously stood up and walked over towards Hoid. He could tell she was near fainting simply by how pale she was getting. “Here you are, your Tributes!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Greetings, District 5! Shall we start the Reaping?” Hoid said. His originally drab, black, mask was getting progressively more ornate for each District he traveled through; the mask for 5 was decorated with silver swirls and some small jewels—said jewels became the size of golf balls for the Career Districts. “Your Male Tribute is Marsh!” Marsh stood up, a bulky figure with a face that could’ve been chiseled from stone.  _ Yeesh, he looks like a Career!  _ Marsh went to stand next to Hoid, who was uncomfortably aware of how Marsh was taller than him. “And, the...the female Tribute is Azure!” An equally tall girl stood up, wearing a blue shirt that was true to her name. She fearlessly stood beside Marsh, refusing to meet the eyes of the crowd. “There you have it folks, your Tributes!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy Hunger Games! Let’s see who the lucky winners are this year!” Hoid blindly grabbed the paper and read the name off in his booming, accented voice. “Our male Tribute is Elend Venture!” Elend walked confidently to the podium, wearing a cape.  _ Bold choice.  _ “The female Tribute spot is claimed by Evi!” A slender girl with golden-blond hair came to Hoid’s side. “Let’s hear it for Evi and Elend!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello District 3!” Hoid shouted. His cries were met with cheering—finally. “Should we figure out who our Tributes are?” More cheering. “The male Tribute is Tien Stormblessed.” A small boy, probably just barely over the minimum age, stood up and walked to the front. Hoid paused, waiting to see if anyone volunteered for Tien. “Female Tribute: Navani Kholin.” A girl, just under the maximum age, walked up to Tien, almost shielding the boy with her body.  _ Huh. Youngest and oldest.  _ “District 3! Your Tributes!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“District 2! So happy to see you! Who are our lottery winners this year?” The crowd yelled and cheered and clapped. “Your male Tribute is Breeze Ladrian!” A boy moved up to Hoid, smiling and winking at the crowd.  _ Another charismatic one.  _ “And your female Tribute is the wonderful Shallan Davar!” A girl with fiery orange hair walked up to Hoid. He noticed with a spark of amusement that she wore one glove, carrying a notepad in her gloved hand and a pencil in her other. “Let’s have a round of applause for Shallan and Breeze!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Adolin Kholin is the male Tribute for you, District 1!” Hoid said as a blond boy strode up to the podium, dressed in a very overdone blue suit.  _ Huh. Yeah, he’s certainly a Capitol child.  _ “And the female Tribute is Marasi Colms.” This Tribute was also wearing an ornate outfit, but it was more girly and less extravagant. She looked timid, almost as if she wasn’t used to be scrutinized under people’s eyes—an odd trait for someone of the Capitol. “Ladies and gents, the final pair of Tributes for the 53rd Hunger Games!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renarin stared out the window of the train that would take him away from his home in District 8 and into the Capitol, where they would dress him up and make him look like one of them before killing him. Jasnah tapped Renarin on the shoulder. He flinched. 

“How are you doing?” She asked softly.

“Honestly? Terrified. I want to tear the train apart.” Renarin responded.

“Too bad.” A new voice said behind them. “You’re too weak to. But when I’m done with you, you’ll be able to tear the whole Capitol apart.” Renarin turned, coming face-to-face with a man whose face he had seen hundreds of times before: Dalinar Kholin.

His uncle.

“Hello, Uncle Dalinar.” Jasnah said; Renarin nodded acknowledgement. He’d forgotten that if he was chosen in the Reaping that his own uncle would be mentoring him(after all, Dalinar  _ had  _ won the 32nd Hunger Games)and Jasnah—his sister.

“Hello, weakling.” Dalinar said. “Ready to get slapped into shape?” Renarin gulped. This is why he didn’t like his uncle very much. He was a little...intense.

“You know, the Games have had Victors that were smart before too.” Jasnah snapped. Dalinar fixed her with a scalding glare. Jasnah returned the glare.

“Well sure, maybe there have been intelligent instead of strong Victors, but one with Renarin’s twitching problem? Never happened. Those ones always die first.” Dalinar said, letting his words hang in the air. Renarin bit his lip until he drew blood, using the pain to distract himself. 

“Ren, he doesn’t mean it, he’s—“ Jasnah started to say, but Dalinar cut her off.

“No, Jasnah, I do mean it. You and Renarin are going to die unless you get tougher.” 

“We’re going to die anyways!” Renarin shouted. Jasnah and Dalinar looked at him in shock; Renarin almost never shouted. “Well it’s true!” He said. “I can’t fight, and Jasnah would be too busy defending me to actually kill anyone! You’re right, Uncle. We’re going to be dead within minutes.” Renarin stormed from the room, searching the train for any sort of weaponized car. He eventually came to a car equipped with a fighting dummy—yes, just one fighting dummy—and a rack of various weapons. Renarin yanked a sword off of a rack and sliced it at the dummy. An arm fell to the ground. He slashed again, this time clipping the dummy’s neck.  _ Coward.  _ He told himself.  _ You can’t even kill a dummy.  _ He swung the sword again, this time actually taking the head off. The dummy, now with two things missing, would be dead if it was a person. Renarin picked up the head and arm, and stuck them back on the dummy.  _ Thank God for magnetic fighting dummies. _ Renarin thought. He resumed his montage of cutting up the dummy, putting it back together, and then dissecting it again. He did this for hours before finally exhausting himself—at least emotionally: he’d basically started this whole ordeal physically exhausted. Trudging back to his room, he practically collapsed into the uncannily soft bed. He lay there, sleep evading him. A knock sounded on his door.

“Renarin?” Jasnah’s voice called. Renarin groaned and threw a pillow at the door.

“Go away!” He shouted back. There was a pause, and Renarin could almost see Jasnah rubbing her temples.

“I will not!” She said. Renarin threw his other pillow at the door. 

“Please, Jasnah. Just go away.” He said tiredly. 

“Ren, we’re going to be stuck in this train for at least another 8 hours. There’s no point in spending them sulking.”

“Why not?” Renarin stubbornly retorted.

“Because there are things that are more productive and strategic for a Tribute of The Hunger Games.” Renarin sighed.  _ Curse Jasnah and her stupid logic.  _ He walked to the door and opened it just a crack. He could spot Jasnah standing outside, waiting expectantly. Renarin opened the door the rest of the way, and Jasnah strode in. Renarin noticed with a flash of surprise that she’d bitten her nails down to the quick. 

“So. Care to tell me why you’re suddenly insisting on locking yourself in your room?” Jasnah inquired. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Jasnah?” Renarin said. Jasnah paused.

“Well…yes. I already know why. I just thought it might help for you to say it out loud.” She replied. 

“We’re going to lose, Jasnah. At least you can fight a little, but I can’t. And did you see the  _ size _ of some of those Tributes? They’re going to snap us like toothpicks.”

“Ren, we have our strengths.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well, we’re both smart, we’ve held swords before—“

“So has every other Tribute!”

“What about Tien? Or Lift? The kids? I’ll bet they haven’t held a sword before.”

“Sure, but they’re kids! They’re going to lose just like we will.”

“We can train.”

“Not enough. We’re never going to be able to train enough, not so we can match up to some of those Tributes.”

“Okay, Renarin. Who exactly are you thinking of? I can tell you have some specific people in mind.”

“Rock and Eshonai, Marsh, Adolin—“

“ _ Renarin.  _ You can’t possibly think that  _ Adolin  _ is a threat. He’s your cousin.”

“He’s also Uncle Dalinar’s son, Jasnah. So how good of a fighter do you think he is?” 

“He won’t kill you. You’re his—“

“Family?” Renarin scoffed. “He’s never considered me family. He’s always loved you, but me? No.”

“Okay……..well, sometimes the smart Tributes can dodge and trap Careers. That’s happened, right?”

“Not often.”

“But it  _ has  _ happened.”

“Sure. But you also heard what Uncle Dalinar said. Any Tributes with a disability always die first. So you might as well prepare yourself for my untimely and inevitable demise.” Renarin said. Jasnah sighed.

“Fine, Renarin. If you want to accept defeat and give up, then do it. I’m not going to.” She stood up and walked from Renarin’s room without another word. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are your skills, Tributes?” Waxillium--winner of the 48th Hunger Games; District 1--asked, leaning down to inspect Adolin and Marasi. Adolin stole a glance at Marasi, who looked like she wanted to jump out the window. 

“I’m practically the world’s best sword fighter.” Adolin said proudly. Wax looked incredulously at Adolin. 

“The best, huh?”

“Well, second best to my father, but easily the best swordfighter in this years’ pool.” Wax nodded, making a mental note to test Adolin on his so called “amazing sword fighting” later. He turned to Marasi.

“And you, Miss Colms? Do you have any skills I should know about?”

“Um, just Marasi is fine, Lord Waxillium.”

“Well, if I call you Marasi, then you can do me the courtesy of not using my full name. I prefer Wax.” Marasi nodded, blushing.

“I can use a shotgun. Sort of.” She said.   
“An unusual talent for a young lady such as yourself! We’ll take it.” A smile graced across Marasi’s features. Wax leaned back. “So. Do either of you know the first thing about surviving in the wild?” Adolin shrugged, Marasi shook her head. “Hmm. That could be a problem. Tell me, what do you guys know about any sort of Hunger Games-y stuff?”

“Well, the Careers win most times,” Adolin said, “But they starve a lot too. So we’re going to have to get used to being hungry.” Wax nodded approvingly. 

“Ummm, well, the Gamemakers don’t like Tributes hiding out, so they sometimes try to corral us to the other Tributes. Most Tributes die at the Cornucopia or of exposure to the elements, so we should look for a shelter before focusing on going after the rest of the Tributes.” Marasi said. Wax nodded again.  _ She’s smart.  _ He thought.  _ If she can get over those nerves of hers, she could win.  _

“Good. Seems like you both have a game plan. Did you watch the Reapings?”

“Yes.” Adolin and Marasi replied. 

“Was there anyone there who you want as an ally?” The two Tributes paused, thinking. 

“I kinda want Vin or Jasnah as allies.” Marasi said.

“Why?” Adolin asked. Vin and Jasnah had been two of the people he’d marked as easy kills.

“Because, well Vin seems like she’d be able to get pretty far, and Jasnah just seemed really composed and calm. I want people like that on my side.”

“Eh, I suppose that makes sense.” Adolin grumbled.

“Okay, Adolin. Is there anyone  _ you _ want on  _ your _ side?” Wax asked.

“I want Kabsal and Eshonai on my side.”

“How come?”

“Did you see him? Kabsal is so storming cunning, he’d be able to outsmart Renarin!” Adolin said, then clapped a hand over his mouth. _Did I just compliment Renarin? No, no no no no no. Of course I didn’t. That didn’t happen. _Adolin hesitated a moment to regain his composure. “And Eshonai just...she’s built tough. She looks tough and a little scary too, with her black and red skin. I think she’d be a good person to not have out to kill me.”  
“They’re all out to kill us, Adolin.” Marasi said. Adolin silenced her with a glare. “But,” Marasi added quickly, “Eshonai does look threatening, so I agree with Adolin.” 

“Those are all good reasons to ally with people.” Wax said. “So. You have probably another hour or so before you reach the Capitol, you might as well get some sleep--you’ll find that sleeping becomes a talent the closer to the Games you get.” Marasi nodded and shuffled off to her room. Adolin followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wayne: he’s dumb; easy kill. Vin: she’s young, she’ll be weak. Kelsier: he’ll be tougher, I’ll team up with someone to kill him. Venli: She’s a twig. She falls out of a tree and she’ll break her neck. Rock: I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to kill Rock, we’re going to have to count on him starving.” Kabsal continued scanning through the clips of the Reaping and marking how he intended to kill each of the Tributes. “Bleeder: She’s clearly insane, so she’ll probably kill herself. Renarin:--” Kabsal paused, chuckling to himself. “Renarin and Jasnah aren’t strong. They’re book smart, not street smart. He’ll probably cut his own head off on accident. As for Jasnah, well, she won’t be hard. Spook: He’s probably insane too; who wears a sock over their eyes? Lift, she’s barely old enough to even be Reaped. Someone at the Cornucopia will definitely kill her.”

“What are you doing?” Steris asked, coming into Kabsal’s room.

“Figuring out how to win.”  
“By…”

“I’m not telling you.”

“But we’re from the same District. I deserve to know what you know.”

“You do not. I’m going to win, and I’ll start by killing you.” Steris went white at Kabsal’s obviously serious remark. 

“Kabsal! Stop staring daggers at Steris.” Kabsal turned to see a dark haired woman walk into his room. Valette, winner of the 49th Hunger Games and mentor to all District 6 Tributes. Today Valette was wearing what appeared to be a ball gown.  _ Bold choice. Stupid, but bold.  _ Kabsal thought with contempt.

“You’re right, Miss Renoux. I shouldn’t be staring daggers at Steris, I should be throwing them at her.” He said. Steris paled further. Valette sighed, putting her hand to her face.

“Why is it that every male Tribute I get is sadistic?” She asked herself. Kabsal, having heard her question, grinned. Valette wordlessly took out a knife, hidden in the folds of her dress, and threw it at Kabsal’s head. It flew past him, nicking his ear and embedding itself in the wall. Kabsal didn’t flinch, only ran his finger over his ear and licked the blood off. Steris shuddered and left the room without saying another word to Kabsal. Valette strode to the wall, yanked her knife out, and strode back out as well. Kabsal resumed his counting of how to kill the Tributes. 

“Steris: The Cornucopia will do her in. Marsh: He’s tough, but he’s slow. I can take him. Azure: She looks like she might be a warrior, so I’ll have to trick her or take her out from afar.” He kept on going through his plans long into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Parades and Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Tributes have arrived in the Capitol, and now they have to train and do the ever so famous Tribute Parade!
> 
> Be sure to leave kudos if you like, and any constructive criticism is appreciated :3

“Hello Panem!” Wit shouted over the roar of the crowd. “Are you ready to see your Tributes?” The crowd screamed their assent. “All right, let the Tribute Parade begin!” Wit turned and watched as the Tributes in their carriages began riding through the cluster of Capitol citizens. There were few notable costumes, but the ones that were notable were very notable. “I see that District 1 is going for a more royal approach!” Wit said, noting the ornate suit and dress that Adolin and Marasi had been clothed with. Adolin was smiling and waving at the crowd, while Marasi looked as if she wanted to sink into the ground and become one with the dirt. “And there’s District 8--are they even wearing costumes?” Indeed, Renarin and Jasnah appeared to be wearing almost the same thing that they’d been wearing when they were first Reaped. The only difference this time was that they were holding hands so tightly Wit feared they would cut off circulation to their fingers. “Huh. Well, for all we know Dalinar probably fired their stylist.” Wit muttered. Finally, the last carriage--District 12--came into Wit’s vision. He started to make a remark, but stopped up short as he saw what Wayne was wearing. He appeared to be wearing a suit, which wasn’t a particularly odd choice. That is, until you saw the multicolored, sparkling hat that the Tribute was wearing. “A boy after my own heart.” Wit said, chuckling. He himself enjoyed hats. He could get behind a guy like Wayne. Wit turned back to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Tributes of the 53rd Hunger Games!”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Renarin shivered as the open window washed cold air over him. Why do I even keep this thing open? He wondered as he walked over to close it. As always, the view from the 9th floor of the Tribute Tower was dizzying, all bright colors and flashing lights. Headlines, all concerning the Hunger Games, floated across buildings.   
“Renarin?” Jasnah called. Renarin groaned. Come on…  
“What?” He yelled back.   
“Can I come in?”  
“No!”  
“Why not?” Jasnah asked.  
“Because I said so!” He shouted back.  
“Renarin, I’m the older one! I’m the one who gets to use that excuse!”  
“Says who?”  
“Says me! And I’m the older one!”   
“Okay, fine! Come in, if it’s so important to you!” Renarin said. He was surprised at the anger in his voice. Jasnah quietly opened the door and walked in, yanking Renarin to his feet. “What? Jasnah, what are we doing?”  
“Uncle Dalinar wanted to talk to you.”  
“No.”  
“Ren, you can’t avoid him forever. So come on. I’ll wait outside if it makes you feel any better.”  
“It doesn’t, but I’ll do it. Might as well die with my Uncle’s angry voice echoing in my ears.” Jasnah bit her lip at Renarin’s apathetic comment.   
“Just follow me.” She said. Renarin shrugged, but followed her nonetheless. They reached Dalinar’s room, and Jasnah held the door as Renarin went inside, fingers nervously fiddling with the string he carried around. Dalinar sat on a hard wooden chair in the room. He saw Renarin entering and gestured to another equally hard chair.  
“Sit.” He instructed. Renarin sat.  
“What do you want?” Renarin asked.  
“To talk with you.”  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t particularly want to talk to you.”   
“I don’t care.” Dalinar snapped. Renarin froze. Dalinar sighed. “Listen, Ren--”  
“You’re not allowed to call me that. Only Jasnah is allowed to call me that.”  
“Listen, Renarin, I want to give you some tips. You know training starts tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, I know. What about it?”  
“You can use a sword, right?”  
“Sort of. I’m not particularly good with any types of weapons.”  
“Hmm. Okay. Here’s what I want you to do. Try to find a Tribute who will teach you how to use a weapon--”  
“No one is going to do that for me!”  
“Not without getting something in return.”  
“What do I have to offer?” Renarin demanded.  
“You’re smart. You must know some survival knowledge, right?”  
“Like what? I only know how to start a fire, which mushrooms are good and which are bad, how to tie knots, and some basic camouflage.” Renarin stopped, startled. “Oh. I guess I do know some stuff.”  
“Do you know first aid?”  
“Yeah.”  
“There has to be someone who will teach you to use a sword, or at the very least a dagger, in exchange for that kind of knowledge. Basic first aid could be the difference between winning and losing for you, Jasnah, or anyone else in the Games.”   
“I suppose you’re right.” Renarin conceded. He stood up. “Thanks, Uncle Dalinar.”   
“You’re welcome, Renarin. Good luck tomorrow.”   
“’ll need it.” Dalinar grabbed Renarin’s wrist as he walked out of the room, causing Renarin to flinch.  
“Hey,” Dalinar said, “Cut yourself some slack. You could win this.” Renarin nodded curtly and speed-walked out of Dalinar’s room. He promptly slammed into Jasnah’s shoulder blades.   
“Ow!” He exclaimed, pulling away and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Jasnah spun around.  
“Oh! Sorry, Ren. How did things go with Uncle Dalinar?” Renarin stared at Jasnah with intensity.  
“I’m pretty sure someone’s replaced our uncle. He was actually being nice to me. That never happens.” Jasnah laughed.  
“Maybe he decided that he might as well try to help us win.”  
“Maybe.”   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Ready to start your training, Tributes?” Hoid asked the group of 24 in front of him. Hoid practically orchestrated the whole Games--drawing the names and being the Head Gamemaker. A few bold Tributes nodded at Hoid. He grinned. “Well then get in there! May the odds be ever in your favor!” The Tributes practically tripped over each other to get into the Training Room.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Kabsal grabbed a handful of knives, spun, and threw them at the human shaped target in front of him. Four out of six knives hit the target. He retrieved the knives and began individually throwing them at the target, hitting a fatal area almost every time.   
“Nice knife throwing.” Someone said. Kabsal turned around and came face-to-face with the blond and black haired Tribute from District 1--Adolin Kholin. Kabsal threw his knife over his shoulder: perfect headshot.  
“Thanks. Can you throw a knife?”  
“Nah. I’m pretty good with a sword though.” Adolin replied, running a hand through his hair.   
“Really?” Kabsal asked.hello Koen  
“Really.” Adolin said. Kabsal snorted.  
“I don’t believe you. Prove it. Beat…..Eshonai in a swordfight.” He said, pointing to the girl--who was currently dismembering a fighting dummy. Adolin chuckled.  
“Okay. Eshonai!” He called. Eshonai looked up from her murdering to focus on Adolin.  
“What is it?” She said.   
“I challenge you to a sword fight.” Adolin said. Eshonai walked over to Adolin, drawing a blunted sword. Adolin grabbed his own dull sword from a rack.   
“Okay, Kholin. I accept this challenge.” Eshonai said. Adolin didn’t see the sword swinging for his face until he was slapped in the nose by the flat of the blade. He brought a hand to his face, using the other hand to parry Eshonai’s swings.   
“Hey! That’s not fair, we didn’t start yet!” He yelled. Eshonai laughed.   
“You think the Game are going to be fair?” Eshonai retorted. Kabsal smiled. Eshonai was looking more and more like a good ally. Adolin’s rank as one of Kabsal’s top few choices of an ally, on the other hand, was rapidly declining as Eshonai smacked his knuckles with the pommel of her sword. Adolin shouted and dropped his sword. Eshonai pointed the tip of her sword at Adolin’s stomach. “I win.” She said. Adolin smiled, which was a little gruesome since there was blood coming from his nose. He punched Eshonai in the face. While she staggered back, Adolin scooped up his sword and began attacking Eshonai. In a flurry of slashes, the situation was reversed: Eshonai’s sword was on the ground, and Adolin had his sword pointed at her stomach.  
“No, I believe I win.” He said. Eshonai scowled.  
“Fine. You win. Even though you cheated, you win.” She retorted. Adolin smiled innocently at her.  
“Oh, but I thought you said the Games weren’t fair! So you can’t really cheat.” He placed his sword on the ground, grinned at Eshonai again, and jogged over to a camouflaging station. Kabsal stared after him for a few moments before bursting into laughter.  
“Yeah, he is pretty good.” He chuckled.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Renarin walked through the clusters of Tributes practicing--anything from using a sword to climbing fake trees. He scanned for anyone who looked as if they could use a weapon and would be willing to help him. There were many Tributes who were obviously skilled in weapons, but none of them looked as if they were going to need any help with surviving the Games. Except for the girl from District 1: Marasi, was it? She was shooting a shotgun at some of the targets; heaven knows why the Games would have shotguns. The bullets collided with the targets most of the time, but she still missed often. Marasi, with her willowy frame, looked like someone who would easily make a mistake in surviving the Games and end up dying from exposure. Most Career Tributes died like that. Renarin made his way over to Marasi, who was currently lining up another shot. He waited for her to finish shooting--a perfect bullseye, her first of this training session--before speaking.  
“Hello.” He said. Marasi jumped a little before turning to look at Renarin.   
“Oh. Um, hi.”  
“You’re Marasi Colms, right?”  
“Yeah. I, uh, I can’t seem to remember who you are…?” Marasi said tentatively, blushing.   
“I’m Renarin Kholin, District 8 Tribute.”  
“Right. Can I do anything for you?”  
“Yes, actually. I was wondering if you could help me learn to use a weapon? I know some survival stuff and first aid if you’d like to know it.” Renarin responded. Marasi thought.  
“I suppose I could at least show you how to use a gun. I don’t think they’ll put any in the Arena though.” Renarin shrugged.  
“They might. They have before.”   
“True. So, what sorts of survival stuff do you know?”  
“How to make a fire, some basic knots, and camouflage.” He said. I can keep the edible and inedible stuff to myself.   
“Alright...I can teach you to use the shotgun, but I want you to teach me how to make a fire.”  
“Okay.”  
“Marasi! What are you doing?” A voice called. They looked to see Adolin approaching with a scowl on his face. “Why are you associating with my cou--Renarin?”  
“Oh, hello Adolin. Renarin was just about to show me how to make a fire, and then I was going to show him how to use a shotgun.” Marasi said, glancing at Renarin.  
“Marasi, don’t help him with anything.”  
“Why? It seems like since the both of us probably aren’t going to win, helping him out if he helps me doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea.” Marasi asked.   
“Just don’t, okay?” Adolin said with a dangerously calm voice. Marasi gulped.   
“Fine. Sorry, Renarin.” She said. She glanced again at Renarin before moving away from them. Adolin turned his full attention to Renarin.   
“Don’t go teaming up with anyone ‘outside your league’, cousin.” Adolin growled.  
“I won’t, Adolin. Now why don’t you go find some other poor Tribute to torture?” Renarin retorted, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Adolin sneered at Renarin, but he did turn and walk away. Renarin, after watching Adolin leave, shivered a little. Why am I stuck with him as a cousin? He asked himself. I should find Jasnah. He looked around the room, and saw his sister sparring with Lift, the little girl from District 7. Lift was using what appeared to be a giant fork--a trident, perhaps?--and Jasnah was using a sword. It was obvious that Lift had little training with her trident, and it was equally obvious that Jasnah was going easy on Lift. Renarin jogged over to them  
“Hey Jasnah.” He said.  
“Hello, Ren. This is Lift, she’s the girl from 7.”   
“Hi.” Lift said, waving quickly at Renarin before turning and kicking Jasnah in the kneecap.   
“Ow!” Jasnah exclaimed.  
“What? That would’ve been a great opportunity in the Games!” Lift shot back. Renarin covered his mouth to hide a smile.   
“She’s right, you know.” He said. Jasnah slapped his arm.  
“Oh, shut up. Did you find anyone willing to help you?”  
“Well, sort-of. The District 1 girl, Marasi, she was going to show me to use a shotgun, but Adolin came over and interrupted it. So no, I didn’t get any actual help.” He confessed.   
“Huh. This Adolin guy sounds like a jerk.” Lift put in.   
“He is. At least to Renarin.” Jasnah said. She shrugged. “Well, I guess just try to figure it out?” Renarin sighed.  
“Very helpful, Jasnah.” Renarin deadpanned.  
“Good luck!” Jasnah called, as Renarin walked away--towards some other sections of the training room.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Hoid checked his watch. As he suspected, 5 hours of the Tributes training had passed, and it was time to wrap things up: he had judging tomorrow, and wanted to get more sleep than humanly possible.   
“Alright, Tributes! That’s enough training, and I’ll see you each tomorrow for the individual evaluations!” He called, making use of the microphone system set up in the training area. With some groans, the Tributes began filing out of the room and going their separate ways--towards their rooms in the Tribute Tower.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! These notes will have both Chapters 1 and 2 in it, because I forgot to add notes to the first one and couldn't figure out how to add them after I'd posted the chapter :P
> 
> So, we've gotten through a good amount of the Game preparation already; sorry about the short chapters. I plan on doing the actual Games maybe 2 chapters from now? We still have to do the individual evaluations and the interviews, so Idk how that'll work out.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it! <3


	3. Individual Evaluations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tributes get their scores for their skills

“How did training go, Tributes?” Wax asked. 

“I got a little better at my shotgun!” Marasi offered. “And the District 8 boy, Renarin, he was going to help me with learning to make a fire if I helped him learn to use a weapon, but…” Marasi glanced at Adolin, who looked at her murderously. “Another Tribute talked me out of it.” 

“Well Marasi, it’s a good thing to get better with your weapons! And it is lucky of you that the Tribute talked you out of offering help to Renarin. You help a Tribute, and the next thing you know, it’s their knife in your back.” Marasi’s eyes widened. “Didn’t that...didn’t that almost happen to you?” Something dark flashed behind Wax’s eyes. He said nothing. 

“So, Adolin! How did your training go?”

“I beat Eshonai in a sword fight.” Adolin said proudly.

“Really! Why did you even challenge her in the first place?” Wax said.

“Kabsal dared me to.” He replied; as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ah. And did you fight to your...fullest potential?”  
“You’d better storming believe I did.” Adolin said. Wax sighed. “Sir? What did I do wrong?”  
“You never want to reveal everything you can do on the training day where every Tribute can see you, Adolin. It isn’t wise.”

“Oh. Well, I did other things too.”

“Like what?”

“I did some camouflaging. I picked on my cousin.” Adolin slapped a hand over his mouth.  _ How tired  _ am  _ I?!  _

“You picked on your cousin.” Wax repeated. Adolin said nothing, suddenly very interested in a spot of dirt on Wax’s boot. “Which one? Jasnah or Renarin?”

“Renarin.” Marasi said. Adolin glared at her, but for once Marasi didn’t shrink away. “He picked on Renarin.” Wax stared hard at Adolin.

“Your cousin?” Wax asked. 

“ _ Don’t call him my cousin. _ ” Adolin snapped. 

“But...he is your cousin, isn’t he?” Marasi inquired.

“Maybe by blood. But other than that, he is in  _ no way related to me _ .” Adolin said. Wax held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay. He’s not your cousin. But why pick on him? You’ll be able to actually kill him in the Arena.”

“Because he was talking to Marasi.”

“And?”

“Marasi is a Career, and someone from storming District 8 shouldn’t be talking to a Career.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” Marasi said. Adolin huffed in disgust and stormed out of the room, probably going to kill the dummy in his room. Marasi And Wax stared at each other for a moment before Wax spoke,

“Marasi. Uh, what do you think you’ll do for the individual evaluation?” Marasi bit her lip, thinking.

“I was planning on just using my shotgun.” She said, blushing.

“Hmmm. I suppose that could work, but if you have other skills I would showcase them too.” Wax prompted.

“Well, I can tie knots. Really cool knots.” Marasi offered. Wax clapped his hands.

“We can work with that. Goodnight, Marasi, and good luck.” He said. Marasi nodded to Wax and left, to take an attempt at sleeping before her evaluation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kabsal spun around, releasing the knife from his fingers. It made a satisfying  _ thud _ as it stuck in the wall, right in the forehead of the Tribute’s picture he’d taped up on the wall. Kabsal wasn’t 100% sure which Tribute he’d just impaled, but it was a kill, and a kill was a kill. He removed the knife and threw it at Steris’ picture. He hit her in the stomach. 

Someone banged on Kabsal’s door.

“Kabsal!” They said. Kabsal yanked the knife from the wall.

“Who is it?” He called.

“Steris!” Kabsal grinned.  _ Poor, innocent Steris. _ “Give me one moment.” He selected two more knives from his dresser; he was clutching a total of three now. They slammed into the pictures of Steris, Jasnah, and Vin: all perfect headshots. “Come on in!” Steris opened Kabsal’s door and walked inside. She took one look at all the Tribute cutouts on his walls--and at the knives in her, Jasnah’s, and Vin’s head--and her face paled. She seemed to do that a lot. 

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked in a small voice.

“What? No, not at all!” Kabsal responded. “What can I do for you?”  
“I was wondering, um, if you were going to ally with anyone for the Games.”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you. Why? Are you going to ally?”

“I like my chances if I ally myself with Eshonai.” Steris said thoughtfully. Kabsal chuckled to himself.  _ Foolish. Now I know who she’s going to seek out.  _ Instead, he said this: _ _

“Yeah, Eshonai does seem like a strategic ally.” 

“What about Kaladin? He seems compassionate and strong.” Steris suggested. 

“Kaladin? I suppose he does look strong and all, but compassion is useless in the Games. Everyone for themselves.” Kabsal said, thinking back to the Reaping where Kaladin had volunteered for his brother. 

“Well, someone having compassion on you could save your life--”

“I don’t need compassion from anyone. Besides, if you hesitate to kill someone you’ll be dead.” Kabsal said, completely serious. 

“Oh.” Steris said quietly. “Well, I might as well try to get some sleep. Goodnight, Kabsal.” She walked out of the room, stealing one last disturbed look at the knife in her head. Kabsal began to remove the first knife from the wall, but thought better of it.  _ I’ll wake up knowing exactly what my priorities are. _ He thought. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adolin strode back from his evaluation with a smile on his face. He’d successfully showcased his sword skills--by dissecting the entirety of the dummies in the room. And in only a couple minutes, no less. He was sure he’d scored at least a 8/12. Probably better. 

“Marasi Colms.” Hoid’s voice said, signaling it was time for her evaluation. Marasi took a deep breath and walked past the lines of Tributes--a few ‘good lucks’ muttered in her direction as she passed. She walked into the room, where the Gamemakers were waiting expectantly behind a wall of glass(placed after a year 26 Tribute shot a Gamemaker in the head) for Marasi to perform her talent. She walked over to a rack of various firearms, selecting her favorite shotgun. She placed the bullet and gunpowder in the muzzle and tamped it down, then cocked the shotgun. Pointing it at a target, she pulled the trigger.  _ Bang!  _ A bullet lodged itself in the bullseye of the target.  _ I did it. I can’t believe that worked!  _ Marasi quickly glanced at the Gamemakers, who were looking both at Marasi and at one another and whispering. She shot a few more bullets at the targets before the buzzer sounded and she went back to the waiting room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kabsal.” Hoid’s voice called, as Azure strode past Kabsal to gather with the other Tributes who’d completed their evaluation. Kabsal grinned and walked inside. He went immediately to a collection of knives. The Gamemakers quietly whispered to each other as Kabsal whipped the knives at the targets. As one would expect, all perfect bullseyes. Kabsal looked at the Gamemakers, who were wide-eyed.  _ Huh. You’d think they would’ve seen someone throw knives by now.  _ However, they quickly got over their fear and stopped watching Kabsal.  _ I’ve got time left. Let’s do something interesting.  _ He grabbed every single knife from around the room and threw them at the glass wall the Gamemakers hid behind. The knives didn’t penetrate the wall--considering it was 6 inches thick--but they stuck in it. The Gamemakers gasped, staring at Kabsal. Some of them looked scared, while others looked like they wanted to throw a knife of their own at Kabsal. Kabsal simply bowed and strode out of the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Renarin Kholin.” Hoid said. Renarin glanced up from fiddling with his string, seeing Lift jogging back to join up with the other Tributes. He shoved his string into his pocket and walked into the room.  _ What should I do… _ Renarin examined the training area. There were weapons everywhere, but Renarin could barely use a weapon himself, and suspected that the majority of the Tributes who had already completed their evaluations had used weapons. He was still contemplating what to do for his time when a glowing screen caught his eye. He walked over to it, seeing that it was a test of sorts where you were given a plant and you had to say whether it was edible, harmless, poisonous, or fatal. Renarin smiled a little to himself.  _ I can do this.  _ He thought. He started up the program. The first image he saw was that of a red mushroom with white spots. He immediately selected ‘fatal’, and was satisfied at the victorious  _ ding  _ the program emitted. The next image was of nightlock berries. Fatal again. Renarin kept on selecting the various options, rewarded with  _ dings  _ of encouragement every time. By the time he finished the program, the screen displayed a very positive outcome: 165/165 in under 5 minutes.  _ That has to be a record.  _ The buzzer rang, and Renarin walked back to join the other Tributes with a smug smile on his face. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hoid wrote down the score of the final Tribute: Vin, the girl from 12--who had used her time to punch the limbs and heads off of all the fighting dummies. 

“Alright, Tributes!” He said. “Tune in tomorrow for your scores and interviews! I wish you all the best of luck!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adolin woke up practically buzzing with anticipation. Putting on a basic shirt and trousers--which were actually quite colorful; Adolin’s idea of basic was just without sequins and such--he walked out of his room and took the elevator down to the first floor. There were already the majority of the Tributes waiting, at least those from Districts 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, and 12. Adolin went and joined Marasi in the District 1 seats, occupied by him, Marasi, and Wax. As he waited, quite impatiently, the Tributes for District 11 arrived, Kelsier looking ruggedly handsome with his slight bedhead, whilst Venli just looked disheveled. District 5 came next, obviously wide awake.

“Sorry,” Adolin caught one of them say, “We thought the meeting was at 11:00, not 10:30.” Adolin snickered. The Tributes for Districts 2 and 9 arrived almost simultaneously, and Hoid began to speak as they found their chairs. 

“Hello, Tributes! It’s time to see your scores for the evaluations! You each will be ranked from 1 to 12, 12 being the best possible score you can achieve, leaving 1 as the worst possible score. Let’s start the scoring!” The scores for Wayne and Vin, the District 12 Tributes, were shown first. They both landed a solid 8. Kelsier from District 11 had a 10, while Venli had a 5.  _ Poor girl.  _ Rock, the hulking figure from District 10, had an 8 as well; Eshonai had a 9. District 9’s Tributes, Kaladin and Bleeder, had an 8 and a 6, respectively. Renarin and Jasnah were up next--District 8.  _ Please be bad,  _ please  _ be bad…  _ Renarin had scored a 9, and Jasnah had a 7.  _ What?! How does Renarin have a 9?! That’s not possible!  _ The Tributes for District 7(Spook and Lift) were scored: they both had a 6. The District 6 Tributes, Kabsal and Steris, had a 9 and a 5; Kabsal with the 9 and Steris with the 5.  _ Looks like Kabsal is a wise choice for an ally.  _ Marsh and Azure from District 5 had relatively average scores: they both had a 7. Elend, from District 4, had a 6, and Evi had a 4. Tien and Navani--the District 3 Tributes--both scored a 5. District 2 was up next, with Breeze and Shallan. Breeze had a 4, and Shallan had a 7. Then came District 1; the only District that Adolin really cared to see the scores for. Marasi had an 8.  _ She must be pretty good with that shotgun.  _ Adolin sat on the edge of his seat as he waited for his score to appear. It finally did, after what felt like hours of waiting.

  1. He scored a 9. Marasi and Wax congratulated him about it, but Adolin was having trouble comprehending the fact that _Renarin_ had the same score as he did. _That can’t be right. _He looked around for his cousin, and saw that Renarin was talking to Jasnah. They were both smiling. Adolin, on the other hand, was scowling. _That is _so _not fair. _He was drawn out of his thoughts by Marasi prodding him on the shoulder. 

“What?” He asked. 

“How are you feeling about a 9?” She said. “Only two other Tributes got one.” 

“How in the world did Renarin get a 9?” Adolin questioned. “You talked to him a little, what did he do?”

“I don’t know, Adolin.  _ You’re  _ his cousin,  _ you  _ should know.”

“I am not his cousin, Marasi.” Adolin said through gritted teeth. Marasi bit her lip.

“Fine. I think he probably did one of those survival quiz things where you have to identify plants.”

“But how would someone get a 9 from that?”

“I’m not sure, he probably got a really good score, or he did it really fast. Or both.”

“I still don’t think that’s fair that he got a 9 from identifying stupid plants, and I got a 9 for actually showcasing useful skills--”

“Knowing which plants will and won’t kill you is a useful skill, Adolin.” Marasi growled. Adolin paused, taken aback. Marasi seemed like a very calm person who would never snap at someone like him, and who would’ve guessed that she would get worked up over his stupid cousin? “You know what? I hope that when you die in the Games, you die because you ate something poisonous.” Marasi taunted.  _ That’s it.  _ Adolin stood up from his chair; Marasi did the same. Adolin still was a good head taller than Marasi, so he could loom over her properly. Marasi didn’t flinch as Adolin raised a hand and struck her across the face. He would’ve done it again, too, if Wax hadn’t held him back. By this time, the District 1 area of the room was beginning to draw attention, considering that Adolin was at this point yelling at Wax and Marasi, and Marasi was yelling right back. Not to mention that Wax was on the verge of yelling. Adolin, after struggling to break free, ended up elbowing Wax in the chin and going after Marasi. He hit her again, and she punched him. Adolin went in to land another blow, but found a new set of hands holding him back. Renarin’s.

“Adolin, stop!” Renarin said. Adolin turned--as best as he could, considering Renarin was directly behind him--and looked at Renarin.

“ _ Don’t tell me what to do. _ ” He said. He tried to break free, but Renarin’s grip didn’t lessen. A new idea popped into Adolin’s brain. He relaxed a little, and felt Renarin--stupid, innocent, Renarin--lessen his grasp on Adolin.

“No, Renarin, don’t--” Marasi began to say, but she was cut off at Adolin smacked Renarin, knocking his glasses off his face. Renarin tried to grab them; Adolin brought his foot down and smashed them. Renarin stared at the shattered glasses for a moment, stunned, before turning and hitting  _ Adolin _ . 

“Renarin! Stop!” A new voice yelled--Jasnah. She was running towards Adolin, Renarin, Marasi, and Wax, who was standing back and rubbing his chin: almost as if he wanted to see where the fight was going.

“Jasnah, I would stop, but did you not just see him smash my glasses? Those are one of the only things I brought here.” Jasnah sighed.

“Yes, Renarin, I saw him smash your glasses. Now stop beating him up; you’ll get to kill him in the Arena in a few days anyways.” She said. 

“Uh, Renarin?” Marasi interrupted. Seeing the look Jasnah gave her, she quickly apologized. “Sorry. But, Renarin, is your hand okay?” Renarin cocked his head at her.

“What? Yeah, of course my hand is--” He cut himself off as he looked down and saw that his hand was clenching and unclenching, completely out of his control.  _ Oh come on, not now!  _ “Fine. My hand is fine. Jasnah’s right, we should stop attacking each other and just go to bed.” He stuffed both hands in the pockets of his trousers and walked quickly out of the room.  _ Great.  _ He thought.  _ Now every Tribute still in there knows about my… problem. Just great.  _ He poked a button on the elevator--floor 9, to be specific--and waited, impatiently tapping his foot, for it to reach the floor. When it did, he immediately ran to his room and sat on his bed, staring at his hand and trying to will it to stop moving. His hand refused. A few minutes later, Jasnah came and sat next to him. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Not everyone noticed, you know.” She said softly. Renarin looked sharply at her.

“Jasnah, everyone who hadn’t left already knows. We were literally hitting and punching each other in the middle of a crowd of people.” He said. “And then Marasi had to point it out, and it was dead silent, so  _ everyone _ heard her. Don’t lie to me.”

“Sorry. I was trying to be helpful.” She said.

“Yeah, well lying isn’t helpful.” The siblings sat in deafening silence for a few moments before Renarin spoke again. “We should just go to bed. We have interviews tomorrow.” 

“We probably should. Look, Ren, you know if you need anything--”

“You’re here. I know, you tell me whenever this kind of thing happens.” He said, glancing down at his hand. He was delighted to find it had stopped twitching. 

“Alright, alright, Ren. I suppose I do say it a lot.” Jasnah responded, chuckling. She stood up and began to walk out of Renarin’s room.

“Goodnight!” Renarin blurted. Jasnah turned around, making eye contact with her brother.

“Goodnight, little brother.” She left, closing the door quietly behind her. Renarin moved to take his glasses off his face and put them on the nightstand, only to remember he didn’t have glasses anymore, thanks to his cousin. Renarin took a deep breath and laid down, praying for sleep to come--instead of evading him, like it evaded so many other Tributes that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This chapter had more than a few temper tantrums :P
> 
> The next chapter will be the interviews and the interview aftermath, and then we go to the Cornucopia!


	4. Interviews, and Pre-Game Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tributes have been scored, and now they are to be interviewed by Hoid! This chapter will end directly before the Cornucopia

“Panem!” Wit yelled, straightening his hat over his black hair. “The interviews are about to begin!” The crowd screamed in excitement. “We’ll start with District 1,” Wit paused to let the audience cheer. “And make our way to District 12! Now, let’s see who our first Tribute is! Adolin Kholin!” The audience clapped as Adolin walked onto the stage, smiling and waving at them. He took his seat next to Wit in front of the audience. 

“Hello, Adolin. How has your trip to the Capitol been?” Wit asked. 

“It’s been pretty good, Wit. I mean, I go here practically every summer, but this particular train ride certainly was different.” Adolin responded. Wit laughed.

“Yes, I’m sure it was. Do you have any skills you want to tell us about?” Wit asked. Adolin paused, thinking. 

“Well, I don’t want to share  _ too much _ , but I’m pretty good with a sword.” Adolin hesitated as the audience clapped for him--they often liked people who used the more old-fashioned methods of combat.

“That you are, Adolin. Now, we all know about the fight you and a few other Tributes had yesterday. What was that about?” Adolin shrugged.

“Mm, nothing much. I was surprised that one of the other Tributes got the same score I did, and another Tribute had the  _ nerve _ to stand up for them, instead of defending me. I threw the first punch, and I threw the last.” Adolin said firmly. Wit’s eyes widened. 

“W-well then…” He said. He then turned away from Adolin and towards the crowd. “We like someone willing to start and finish his own battles, right?” He yelled. The audience clapped, albeit rather uncertainly. “Alright, Panem! Adolin Kholin!” The cheering intensified as Adolin walked off the stage. He shot Renarin a rather unpleasant gesture as he walked to the back of the line of Tributes. Renarin scowled and shot the gesture right back. “Alright,” Wit said to the crowd, “On to the other District 1 Tribute! Miss Marasi Colms!” Marasi walked onto the stage, hoping she looked less nervous than she felt. She sat down in the chair Adolin had been in just moments ago. 

“Hello, Miss Colms! How has the Capitol been treating you?” Wit asked as he sat down. Marasi blushed.

“Marasi is fine, thank you. And, uh, I can’t say I’ve been to the Capitol a lot; unlike my District partner, but it certainly is beautiful. Almost everyone I’ve met has been very kind to me.” She said. 

“ _ Almost _ everyone?” Wit repeated. “We can see that, my dear.” Wit gestured to the side of Marasi’s face, where a black-and-blue bruise marred her pale skin. Marasi shrugged.

“Almost everyone.” She confirmed. “Adolin has been… less hospitable than most.” Marasi admitted. The audience gasped, murmuring amongst themselves. This Marasi was nothing like the frail and nervous little girl at the Reaping. Wit gave the audience a moment to compose themselves before asking his next question. 

“So, Marasi, what is that thing you’ve brought with you?” He said, pointing towards the wooden stick protruding from a sheath-of-sorts on Marasi’s back.

“Oh. That.” Marasi said, then she smiled and drew the stick from the sheath. Turns out, the stick was a shotgun. Marasi held in her lap and the audience gasped again; a girl with a shotgun is not a particularly normal sight, even in a place as extravagant and diverse as the Capitol. “It’s my choice of weapon.”

“A shotgun! Why, that is certainly an unusual weapon. But I think it suits you.” Wit said, smiling. Marasi blushed again.

“Thank you.”

“Do you think you could try it out?” He asked, only partially kidding. Marasi stared at him.

“Try my shotgun?  _ In here _ ?” 

“Why not?”

“I-I’m not that good, I could… I could  _ hit _ someone!”

“Aww, come on, you scored an 8, and I don’t think it was from just standing there and looking pretty. That was more like… 5 out of the 8.” Marasi and the audience chuckled.

“Well, I’ll only try it if the audience wants it…” Marasi said mischievously. She turned towards them, and they cheered and clapped. Marasi stood up and began to load her shotgun. “What should I aim at? I need a target.” A few people stood up in the audience, carrying what were indeed wooden targets. Marasi was taken aback.  _ Why in the world would people bring targets to an interview? _ Wit selected three people from the audience, and the rest of the potential targets sat down with over-exaggerated sighs. 

“Those three targets will do, won’t they?” Wit said. Marasi nodded.

“They’ll do. Can I, uh, can I borrow your hat?” Wit stopped in the middle of laughing with the audience to turn to her with a horrified look. 

“My hat?! Why, what use could you possibly have for it?” 

“It helps me aim better.” Marasi lied. In reality she just wanted to wear Wit’s black bowler hat while shooting a shotgun. Wit smiled a little, as if he understood that Marasi simply enjoyed his hat. Nevertheless, he handed it over. Marasi placed it on her head with a grin and pointed her gun at the first person with the target. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the trigger. 

_ Bang! _ People screamed as the bullet lodged itself in the target. For a panicked moment, Marasi thought she’d shot the man, but he was grinning and showing off the target to the people sitting next to him. Marasi aimed for the next target.

_ Bang!  _ Another golden bullet found its mark. By this point people were cheering and clapping, and Wit was doing nothing to calm them down. Marasi looked through the webs of color for the third target. She spotted it, being carried by a person up on one of the balconies.  _ Wit wanted to give me a challenge, I see.  _ Wasting no time, she reloaded the gun and fired.

_ Bang!  _ All three bullets had now successfully hit the targets, and in the bullseye no less. Marasi exhaled a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding in and slung the shotgun back over her shoulder. Wit turned to her, hand outstretched. The jokingly impatient look on his face betrayed the amazed glint in his eyes. Marasi reluctantly gave Wit the hat.  _ I would really like one of those. _ She thought.  _ Maybe someone will send me one in the Arena.  _

“Well,” Wit said, chuckling as he put his hat back on. “I can certainly say that that was the most interesting thing I’ve been privileged to do for the Games. Thank you, Marasi.”

“You’re very welcome, Wit.” Marasi walked off the stage to some of the loudest cheering she had ever heard in her life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’ve gotten through 5 Districts,” Wit called, “Which brings us to District 6. Let’s meet our male Tribute, Kabsal!” The crowd cheered again--heaven knows where they got all this enthusiasm--as Kabsal walked onto the stage and sat down, and Wit joined him. “Kabsal. For a boy from District 6, the Capitol must be very overwhelming, no?”

“Yes, Wit, it is a little overwhelming. But it is nice to realize there are other Tributes going through the same thing I am.” Kabsal responded.

“I’m sure it is. Now, you got an 8. How did that happen?” Wit asked. Kabsal shrugged.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to share that.” He replied. The audience sighed.

“Worth a shot.” Wit readjusted himself in his chair. “Now, Kabsal, do you expect to win?”

“I suppose I do.”

“And why do you think you’ll win?”

“Well, I don’t want to reveal too much, but I’m cunning. And I can fight well enough to defend myself.”

“Good for you, Kabsal. I hope you make it far in the Games.”

“You and me both.”

“Alright, Panem! There you have it: Kabsal, of District 6!” Kabsal left the stage. As he passed Steris, she whispered to the boy behind Spook, from District 7:

“I thought he was a psychopath.” Spook grunted.

“He’s faking. If you think he’s a psychopath, he is a psychopath.” The wiry Tribute responded, moving the bandana so it covered more of his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Renarin Kholin, District 8!” Wit exclaimed. Renarin walked onto the stage, hands shaking--from nerves, thankfully not from his condition. He shoved them in his pockets. Renarin looked out over the crowd as he sat down, but was unable to make out individual faces.  _ Stupid Adolin. _ Luckily, he could see Wit’s face in perfect detail as the interviewer turned to him and asked the first question. 

“Renarin! What’s it like, having your older sister as your companion Tribute?”

“It’s… tough, knowing that only one of us gets to go home alive. But at the same time, it is a little comforting to have my sister by my side through this whole ordeal.” A collective ‘awww’ ran through the crowd. 

“Well, at least there’s 24 Tributes. A very low chance you’ll be the one to kill her.” Wit said. 

“If she dies at all.” Renarin corrected. 

“Yes. If she dies at all.” Wit echoed. “Now, I have one more question for you before we end the interview.”

“And what’s that?”  
“You got a 9 in the evaluations. That’s only tied by two other Tributes. What did you do? Without spoiling all of it.”

“Oh, um, I… I’m smart. I know my plants.” Renarin stammered.  _ Wow, this is going horribly. _ Wit and the audience laughed. 

“I hope that helps you in the arena, Renarin. Panem, there you have it! Our  _ very smart _ Tribute, Renarin!” Renarin’s face warmed as he scurried off the arena. As he passed Jasnah, she held out a hand to stop him.

“I’m sorry, that was awful--” He began to say, but Jasnah cut him off.

“You did fine. You didn’t faint, which is better than Steris.” Indeed, Steris had fainted during her interview. 

“Jasnah? It’s your turn.” Wit called, turning towards the Tributes--hidden offstage. Jasnah smiled at Renarin.

“Wish me luck,” She said, prancing away from Renarin and joining Wit on stage.

“Good luck,” Renarin responded, but Jasnah was already gone. Renarin turned and went to the other Tributes, ignoring words of encouragement and mocking alike. He found a corner, away from the Tributes, where he sat against the wall.  _ How is anyone going to help me now?  _ He thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, our second-to-last Tribute, the boy from District 12, Wayne!” Wit shouted. Wayne jogged onto the stage and sat down. Wit sat across from him. “So, from your Reaping, Wayne, you can imitate Hoid’s accent. I find it hard to believe that.”

“Well, I can mimic yours too.” Wayne responded, in what did sound like Wit’s voice. “It isn’t all that different from Hoid’s, actually.” The audience cheered and laughed. 

“I see that! Wow!” Wit said. He edged forwards in his chair. “Can you do any of the Tributes’ accents?”

“Any and all of them!” Wayne said in Adolin’s accent--which again sounded a reasonable amount like Hoid’s and Wit’s, since the three of them were from the Capitol. The audience cheered once more. 

“I’m… I’m speechless! Do someone else’s.”

“I suppose I can try that.” Wayne replied, this time using Jasnah’s accent. Wayne glanced behind the stage, where Jasnah was staring at him, eyes wide. 

“Amazing!” Wit exclaimed. “That could be  _ extremely  _ useful in the Games.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Wayne said in his normal voice. The audience was cheering and clapping and shoving each other around. 

“Well then, Panem!” Wit raised his voice. “Wayne of District 12!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adolin walked back to the District 1 section of the Tribute Tower, Marasi clutching his hand so hard he feared she would break it. Adolin couldn’t really blame her, he was gripping her hand just as tightly.  _ Stupid nerves.  _ He broke away from Marasi when he neared his room, and walked in to find a small a package on his bed. He carefully picked it up and opened it, finding a small golden pin, adorned with a royal blue gem in the center. Adolin smiled; blue was the Kholin color.  _ Who could’ve given me this?  _ He wondered. He put the pin on his nightstand, and tried to allow sleep to claim him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your interview was so much better than mine!” Renarin said to his sister as they walked out of the auditorium and towards the elevator. “How do you  _ do _ that kind of stuff?”

“It just comes naturally to me, Ren, that’s all.”

“So not fair that you got the public speaking gene.”

“Ren! It wasn’t that bad!”

“Jasnah. I did awful. I wasn’t confident, I wasn’t funny, I wasn’t shy in a likeable way, it was just bad.” 

“You did better than Steris.”

“Steris fainted. That’s not a hard hurdle to jump.”

“... Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn’t great. But you should last a while in the Games.”

“No, I shouldn’t. That interview just marked me as an easy kill. Every Tribute will be out to kill me.”

“I’ll stop them.” Jasnah responded, as if it was the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.

“That’s another thing, Jasnah. If you’re too busy trying to keep me alive, you’re going to die too. I’d like to say that one of us goes home alive, and we both know it won’t be me.”

“No!” Jasnah said intensely. “Ren. You can’t think like that.”

“And why not?”

“Because…” Jasnah paused, biting her lip. “Because it’s not you. You’re not this. The Renarin I know isn’t this pessimistic and hopeless. And if you do die, you should die as you. Not as this.” Renarin’s expression softened. 

“Well isn’t this nice.” A new voice said. The siblings turned to see Dalinar looming over them. “The sister is trying to lift her defective brother’s spirits.”

“I knew that Dalinar was a fake one.” Renarin muttered--referring to the talk he’d had with his uncle before the training. 

“It was nice. Until you ruined it.” Jasnah snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, me and Ren need our sleep.” She walked away from Dalinar without another word, dragging Renarin with her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What does the arena look like this time?” Hoid asked, gathering with the other Gamemakers.

“I thought you designed it.” A Gamemaker responded.

“Oh, no. I just gave outlines to Ore and Ten. They made it.” Hoid said, gesturing to the two Gamemakers, who were whispering to themselves. 

“Care to tell the rest of us what those ‘outlines’ were?” The Gamemaker demanded.

“Calm down, Kan. I just told them to make it lush.”

“Lush.” Kan repeated.

“Yes. Lush. You know, with lots of greenery? Like a tropics?”

“I know what lush means, Hoid.” Kan snapped. 

“Good for you!” Hoid said.

“I’d strangle you if you weren’t Head Gamemaker.”

“I know. But since I  _ am _ Head Gamemaker, you can’t.” Hoid said. He winked at Kan, who looked as if he really did want to strangle Hoid. “Let’s hope those Tributes give everyone a good show, or you very well might get to strangle me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adolin woke to something buzzing. His immediate thought was  _ someone’s trying to kill me  _ and he leapt out of bed. Well, he tried to. He was tangled in his bedsheets, so he more so  _ thudded _ out of bed. He rubbed his head.

“What is that buzzing?” He muttered. He left his room--after putting on something a little more wearable than his nightclothes--and found Marasi standing outside his door, looking equally disheveled. Wax appeared moments later; he didn’t look disheveled so much as tired.

“They do this every year, and I’m still not ready for it.” Wax complained. 

“What is the buzzing for?” Marasi asked. 

“It’s a timer. It’s telling us we have one hour to get to the plane that will take us to the arena.”  
“How far away are the planes?” Adolin asked. Wax shrugged.

“Oh, they’re just right outside. We should get ready. If you guys have a token you want to bring, take it.” Wax said. Adolin turned around and went back into his room. He then realized something and poked his head back out. 

“Hey Wax?”

“Yeah?”  
“What about the specific Tribute outfits? You know, for the Games?”

“They should be in your closet. It’s the green stuff.”

“Thanks.” Adolin disappeared behind the door and opened his closet. Sure enough, there was a green windbreaker jacket and brown pants.  _ Bold of them, making all of us die in something green. _ Adolin put on the clothing regardless and fastened the pin to his jacket. He strode out of the room, hoping the too-big sleeves would hide his shaking hands. Marasi soon joined them, wearing her own jacket and trousers. 

“That buzzing is  _ annoying. _ ” She grumbled.

“Honestly.” Adolin replied. “Now, we should eat something before we go to the planes. Who knows when we’ll actually get to eat again.”

“Let’s… not think about that. Please.” Marasi said, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renarin sat, strapped into his seat on the plane--much like a soldier who was waiting to jump from a plane. His heart was pounding so loudly he was shocked no one seemed to hear it. Jasnah reached over, around their straps, and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back without making eye contact. 

“We’ll be fine, Ren. Okay?” She whispered. Renarin nodded, still not looking at her. “Oh! I have something for you.” This time Renarin did look at her. Jasnah pulled a pair of glasses from one of her windbreaker pockets, pressing them into Renarin’s hand. Renarin stared at them in shock.

“How did you get these?”

“I just found them on my nightstand this morning. Try them on!” Renarin did, though with some difficulty since his arms had to get around his bonds. The glasses clarified his vision, allowing him to clearly see the other pairs of Tributes gathered in the plane--Shallan and Breeze from District 2, Wayne and Vin from District 12, and Eshonai and Rock from District 10 had already been strapped in. Tien and Navani from District 3 were waiting to get strapped in—it was difficult to find straps that would fit since Tien was so small, and Navani was so slim. 

“They work. Thanks, Jasnah!” Renarin exclaimed. Jasnah smiled.

“You’re welcome. I figured you would need any advantage you could get in the Games.”

“You certainly are right about that.” 

“Don’t discredit yourself too much. You could win.” Jasnah said. 

“Yeah right.” Renarin stopped talking as the District 7 Tributes walked in. Lift immediately ran to a seat and strapped herself in--she still had an unnatural amount of wiggle room, but she didn’t seem to mind(eventually Navani came and fixed the bonds so Lift couldn’t get out). Spook, on the other hand, moved among the plane.  _ How does he see with that thing over his eyes?  _ Renarin wondered. Spook went to the back of the plane and waited, tapping his foot.

“What time is it?” Renarin said. Jasnah shrugged.

“I’d guess we have another 15 minutes until we have to leave.” She said.

“And there’s still a lot of Tributes who have to get here.” He muttered. As if on cue, the remaining Tributes ran onto the plane, some looking more out of breath than others. 

“We’re here! We’re here!” Marasi exclaimed. Adolin punched her in the arm.

“We’re not late, idiot.” He snapped. Marasi took a step back. Renarin scowled at Adolin.  _ We’re all nervous, Adolin. Stop taking it out on some other Tribute.  _ The Tributes began strapping themselves into seats when a voice came over the speakers.

“Happy Hunger Games, Tributes! I’m Paalm, the Gamemaker who will be narrating the Game for you all during the next few days! Now, please make sure you’re all strapped in, or you could hurt yourselves when we take off.” Adolin grumbled something about how they were all going to be dead in the “next few days” anyways. “You have five minutes until we take to the skies!” The speakers went dead, leaving all of the Tributes in shock. Some of them had still been holding out hope that this was all some big joke, but it had never happened before and would never happen in the future. Renarin looked at his hands and saw that they were shaking ever so slightly.  _ Stop it! _ Suddenly, a thought popped into Renarin’s head.

“Oh! Jasnah, did you bring the tokens?” Jasnah looked at him.

“What?”

“Did you bring the tokens.” Renarin repeated. 

“Oh, those. Yeah, I got them.” Jasnah fished in her pocket and pulled out two rings. They were both gold, and had blue jewels in them. She gave one to Renarin and put the other on her finger. Renarin copied her. Feeling much more secure now that the ring was on his finger, Renarin looked more closely at the Tributes. He scanned them until his eyes came to rest on something glimmering on Adolin’s jacket. Renarin squinted, and realized with a sickening feeling that Adolin was wearing a pin very similar to Renarin and Jasnah’s rings. He elbowed Jasnah. 

“Adolin has a Kholin pin.” He whispered harshly.

“Eh. He probably got it from Dalinar.” Jasnah said calmly. 

“But, but people could think we’re like, allies or something!”

“Then we’ll just have to prove that we want nothing to do with Adolin.”

“If Adolin wants anything to do with us, then he will.”

“Renarin, stop complaining. I’m sick of listening to it. You’re going to be fine, I’m going to be fine, everything’s going to be fine--”  
“And I’m sick of you not showing any emotion over this whole ordeal! You haven’t seemed nervous, you’re angry at me for _no reason_; do you even care?” Jasnah stared at Renarin.

“I care. Renarin, I’ve cried myself to sleep almost every night because I fear for your life. Because I fear for  _ my _ life. I care more than you can even comprehend. Don’t  _ ever _ say I don’t care ever again.” Jasnah said softly. Renarin was shocked. Normally during these outbursts of his, Jasnah yelled at him. She’d only ever used this voice once before, and Renarin had been so small then he barely remembered it. Renarin was about to respond, but Paalm interrupted him.

“Alright, your 5 minutes are up! We’re going to take flight, and we’ll be airborne for probably about 30 or 45 minutes! Then we land, and you will each be escorted to a glass tube which will take you to the Arena. Good luck!” The plane lurched as its wheels retracted and the plane flew into the air, taking 24 Tributes to an Arena, and 23 to their graves. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! We've gotten to the Games! Thanks for sticking with it :D


	5. The Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games have officially started! This is day 1

“Tributes! You have officially reached the Arena! Please exit the plane and follow the signs to your destinations.” Paalm called. Tributes stood up, moving single-file from the plane. They ended up in a familiar looking gray room with 24 doorways. Every Tribute chose a door at random and went down it to find another drab, dark room. This room had a glass tube at the end, that when you stepped in would take you to the Arena. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marasi pressed her hands to the glass as she rose up into the arena. As the tube arrived in the Arena, she saw that the Arena was a luxurious and green rainforest. Even through the glass, she could hear a waterfall crashing somewhere in the distance. The other Tributes began rising up to their own spots in the Arena. As the glass went down, Paalm began speaking.

“Tributes! Please do not step off your platforms. There are land mines. The timer will turn on over the Cornucopia momentarily. When it goes off, you are free to start the Games. Happy Hunger Games!” Marasi sighed.  _ They sure do say that a lot.  _ A holographic timer appeared above the glistening, silver Cornucopia. It was frozen at 10. There were objects strewn all around the Cornucopia, with the most valuable ones leaning up against the Cornucopia or directly inside of it. The items got as far as 3 yards away from the Tributes: in fact, there was a small tarp folded up right in front of Marasi.  _ Shotgun, please let there be a shotgun…  _ Marasi scanned the materials, heart sinking as she didn’t see a shotgun. However, a different firearm caught her eye. A pistol, something Marasi could fire reasonably well--it just wasn’t her weapon of choice. There were a few cartridges of ammunition lying around, the most concentrated amount being a group of 4 cartridges; enough for 12 shots. Those were barely visible in the lip of the Cornucopia.  _ I should just grab the pistol and any extra ammo I can pick up is an added bonus. The only trick will be getting to it without being killed.  _ The timer began to tick down, drawing Marasi’s attention. She vaguely realized that Navani, the older Tribute from District 2, was on the pedestal to her right--Vin from District 11 was on her left. 

The timer hit 5. Marasi braced herself to run for the pistol. The timer kept ticking down. 4. 3. 2. 1.  _ Beeeep!  _ It went off, and 24 Tributes leapt off their pedestals, some going for the Cornucopia, some running off into the woods. Marasi felt something whizz past her head.  _ Just keep running.  _ She was almost there, almost to the pistol.

She hit the dirt. Turning around and spitting soil out of her mouth, she looked up just in time to see a knife coming down at her head and roll out of the way. She leapt to her feet, catching a glimpse of Kabsal’s face before he threw a knife at her. She ducked and went for the pistol, running without looking back at Kabsal. She reached the pistol and wrapped her fingers around it.  _ Please already be loaded.  _ She thought, before turning and firing the pistol at Kabsal. Her shaking hands sent the bullet a little off course, but she did snag him in the arm.  _ Thank Preservation.  _ Marasi turned and ran from the Cornucopia, grabbing another cartridge of bullets and a small satchel from the ground. As she ran, she heard something coming up behind her. She ducked, and an arrow flew over her, striking a figure probably 50 yards in front of her. They dropped what they were holding with a scream and ran off into the woods, arrow still sticking from their arm. Marasi felt sick, but she kept running. She eventually reached the forest and dove into the lush depths of the jungle, branches whipping her face.  _ I need to find a place to camp.  _ She came to a cave, set deep in a rock formation--a hill, perhaps? Marasi went inside, pistol held at the ready in case she came across any Tributes. As she walked, she heard the sounds of someone else’s footsteps behind her. She spun.

“Come out! I know you’re there!” She said, pointing the pistol at where she thought the Tribute was. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll come out! Please, just… don’t kill me.” They said. However, the voice was coming from behind Marasi, so she spun around again to see Steris walking out from amid the rocks that littered the cave floor, face already smudged with blood and dirt. 

“Steris? I assumed…”

“That I’d been killed in the Cornucopia? Yeah, everyone did. I just ran instead.” Steris said.

“Then you realize that if I move my finger I can kill you.”

“I do. But I also think that you’re a little too nice to kill someone when they don’t have a weapon and are standing right in front of you. Not much of a trick shot.” Marasi stood, thinking. She carefully lowered the pistol, though her hands never left the trigger.

“I suppose you’re right. So what do you want? An alliance?”

“You could say that. But that implies that we both have something to bring to the table. I don’t really, it would be more like you protecting me.” Steris said. Marasi paused.  _ Wow. She’s blunt. I kinda like it. _ Marasi put her gun in her satchel, being sure to put on the safety.

“Alright, Steris. We can try out this little “alliance”. But remember, I have the gun.” 

“Oh, trust me, I remember. Having a gun pointed at you is an experience worth remembering.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jasnah winced as yet another branch whipped a cut across her face. Her hair, which had originally been done in a braid, had come loose and was flying wildly around.  _ Distance, distance…  _ She thought.  _ I have to put distance between the Careers and me, then I can circle back. _ She took a moment to pause, listening for the sound of a Tribute crashing through the undergrowth. There was no sound, so Jasnah turned and made her way left. She didn’t have a specific destination in mind, only to not run into any threatening Tributes, and ideally find her brother before he got himself killed. She had managed to grab a small pack--which had turned out to contain a knife, a pack of dried fruit, and some matches--and an axe from the Cornucopia. The axe was nearly too heavy for her to wield, but she didn’t want to drop it somewhere as a clue to her whereabouts, and it could kill if she could swing it fast enough. 

She stumbled over something. Looking down, she saw a footprint. It was small, small enough that Jasnah decided it certainly wasn’t a Career, or one of the particularly muscular Tributes (Marsh, Rock, or Eshonai). She decided to follow the prints, which abruptly ended within her next 30 minutes of tracking. The end of the tracks was marked only by a spatter of blood. Jasnah took a moment to kneel in front of the blood.  _ Another one down.  _ She thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renarin stumbled through the forest, his body alight with pain. He stole a glance at his arm, and immediately looked away at the sight of an arrow protruding from his arm.  _ Stupid bow. _ He had to bite back another scream as the arrow caught on a tree. His every instinct was telling him to pull the arrow out, but Renarin knew that would only worsen the bleeding. He kept running, stopping only once to catch his breath behind a tree. He ran through the woods until he was sure he was well out of the way of any Tributes, then hid and took some time to actually look at his arm. The arrow had impaled it, going through to the other side but not  _ completely _ going through. Blood was seeping out from around the wound, and he could see that some of the arrow’s shaft was red.  _ I can’t just sit here forever or I’ll bleed out. I need to find some bandages or something.  _ Renarin thought. He forced himself to stand up, and began moving back towards the Cornucopia. Turns out he hadn’t gone nearly as far as he’d thought; and he arrived faster than expected. There weren’t any more Tributes left, at least none that were alive. Renarin counted 5 or 6 bodies lying around, and he identified Navani, Evi, and Marsh. The other Tributes’ faces were marred so he couldn’t recognize them without examining them, which is something Renarin did  _ not _ want to do. He picked his way through strewn about weapons and pools of blood until he was inside the Cornucopia. There wasn’t much left, but there was a small roll of thick bandages. Renarin picked them up and turned around, ready to leave the Cornucopia. As he was heading back to the forest, something caught his eye. It was a long and intricate sword, with a blue hilt and silver blade. Renarin grabbed it, stuffing the bandages in his pocket.  _ Huh. I could use this. Maybe. _ Hefting the blade, he swung it. The blade was well balanced, but it was still too heavy for Renarin to properly wield without using both hands. He gripped the sword, and immediately dropped it with a cry.  _ Right. Arrow. _ He dragged the sword into the Cornucopia--wincing both in pain and at the screeching sound the blade made on the Cornucopia floor. He hid the sword behind some boxes and crept out of the Cornucopia. The sun was steadily going down, bringing dusk to the Games. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Adolin.” Kabsal said, shaking Adolin awake.  _ When did I fall asleep?  _

“What?” 

“Someone lit a fire over there.” Kabsal said, pointing into the woods. Adolin sat up and turned towards where Kabsal was gesturing. There was indeed a faint orange glow coming from the forest, and Adolin could faintly see smoke rising into the air. “Idiot.” Kabsal sneered. 

“Honestly. Someone  _ always _ dies like this.” Adolin said. “Should we get them?”

“Of course we should; grab your sword.” Adolin stood up and grabbed the sword off the side of the tree, a shimmering silver sword about 2 feet in length. Kabsal pocketed two of the six knives he’d somehow managed to get from the Cornucopia. The two of them crept through the bushes, heading for the fire. They reached it, and Adolin stole a glance from around a tree at the Tribute he was about to kill. It was Tien, the little boy from District 3. Adolin felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Kabsal, we shouldn’t kill him.” Adolin said.

“Why not?”

“He’s just a kid. He isn’t going to win.”

“And?”

“And it’s not worth killing a kid.”

“Adolin. You can’t just let him live. This is the Hunger Games. He’s a  _ threat _ .” Kabsal growled. 

“He isn’t going to win!”

“So then killing him now would be merciful!” Kabsal whispered harshly. Adolin glared at Kabsal, and Kabsal glared right back. Adolin thought over what Kabsal was saying. It did make some sense, but the idea of killing a little boy just didn’t sit right with him. “You’re a Career. Kill him.” Kabsal’s voice had acquired a dangerous tone, suggesting that he would kill both Tien and Adolin any second now--his patience was evidently waning, and not in Adolin’s favor. Adolin grit his teeth.

“ _ Fine. _ ” He snarled. He crept from the bushes and drew his sword. Tien’s head snapped up in his direction. The boy’s eyes widened in horror right before Adolin’s blade cut his head off. Adolin turned back to Kabsal, wiping the now bloodied sword on his pants. “Don’t ever make me do that again.” Kabsal grinned a very unnerving grin.

“This is the Hunger Games, Adolin Kholin. I can make no promises.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Marasi! They’re announcing who died.” Steris said from the mouth of their cave. Marasi shushed Steris, but went to the front of the cave anyways to watch the images of the dead Tributes appear in the sky. The sky lit up with images, and the air was filled with the anthem of the Capitol. The first image was the face of Breeze from District 2. Navani and Tien were next, then Evi, then Marsh. The next Tribute was from District 11: Venli, the girl with the tattoos. The sky darkened back to its normal deep blue color. 

“So. Districts 2, 4, 5, and 11 have lost one Tribute. 3 lost both. That’s…” Marasi paused, doing the math in her head (She may have been smart, but math was not her best subject). 

“6 Tributes dead.” Steris said. “18 remaining.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, a good number of Tributes have already died, and we need to narrow it down to just one at the end of the story. Let's see where this goes >:D


	6. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day of the Games >:D

Renarin woke to pain. Frankly, he wasn’t all that startled; he’d been in pain practically since the Games started. What did surprise him was the sheer  _ amount  _ of pain. He looked at his arm, sure he’d taken the arrow out and bandaged it, but he found it was not bandaged and the arrow had not been taken out.  _ Huh. _ He must’ve sat down against a tree and fallen asleep before he’d had a chance to bandage it.  _ Well, no time to waste. I need to get this thing out of me. It’s probably already infected.  _ He grabbed the roll of bandages from in his pocket--it was distorted after spending several hours smushed in a coat. Unravelling them, he readied himself to pull the arrow out. He grabbed the wooden shaft and tugged a little. The arrow slid ever so slightly forwards. Renarin gasped and bit back a cry.  _ Just do it, coward! Just pull it!  _ Renarin jerked the arrow out, unable to hold back a heart-wrenching scream this time. He threw the now blood covered arrow into the forest, as far away from him as possible. Clutching his arm, he fumbled around for the bandages and frantically wrapped them around the wound, barely giving himself enough time to see it--what he did see what comprised of mostly blood and splinters. He finished wrapping it, making sure to have the wrap be tight enough to stop bleeding, but not so tight as to cut off circulation.  _ How do I tie it off? _ Renarin thought. He decided to just tie the bandages themselves into a knot over his wound. Blood was barely visible under the layers. Renarin paused, putting his hands at his side and taking a deep, rattling breath.  _ Let’s never do that again. _ He forced himself to his feet and stumbled off into the woods. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wayne perched in a tree, watching and waiting for a Tribute to pass below him. He readied his spear. As he waited, a Tribute ran past, so quickly that Wayne didn’t even have a chance to throw the spear.  _ Dang it! _ Wayne considered dropping out of the tree and following the Tribute, but his odds were better when he was in the trees and his target was on the ground. As he waited, steadily growing more bored, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Wayne whistled softly.

“That sounds like a  _ very _ unhappy Tribute.” He said.  _ Poor kid.  _ Even though Wayne was around the same age as the Tributes, he felt as if the majority of them were younger than him. His thoughts were interrupted as another Tribute moved under his tree, this one stopping and looking around.  _ Sorry mate.  _

“Hello.” Wayne said. The Tribute looked up, giving Wayne just enough time to identify her as Azure--from District 5--before Wayne’s spear hit her in the forehead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kabsal!” Adolin said. “Get over here, I found another Tribute!” Kabsal made his way to Adolin, grinning. 

“Who is it?” Kabsal whispered.

“Not sure. I think it’s Bleeder, that girl from 9.”

“Ah. The insane one. She shouldn’t be too hard.” As they watched Bleeder meander through the trees, which kept obscuring Adolin’s view. The white-haired girl suddenly disappeared into a bush, and the only clue as to her still being alive was the screams of another Tribute and the laughs of Bleeder. She emerged from the bushes a moment later, screams silenced and clutching a long metal spike. Adolin shuddered. 

“You sure? She just killed someone.” He said.

“So? She’s  _ insane, _ Adolin. We’ll be able to kill her.”

“If you’re so confident, you go first.” Adolin challenged. Kabsal shrugged and walked into the clearing with Bleeder. The girl seemingly didn’t notice him, she was stroking her spike and--wait, was she _talking _to it? Kabsal raised his knife to strike Bleeder, but she threw out a hand and punched Kabsal in the stomach. Kabsal dropped the knife with a grunt, doubling over. Adolin leapt from the bushes, pushing Kabsal away before Bleeder impaled him.   
“Thanks.” Kabsal gasped. Adolin waved a hand.

“No time to talk now. We need to kill her first.” He said, jumping out of the way as Bleeder screamed and lunged at him, spike pointed at his heart.  _ Don’t stop moving.  _ He rolled as Bleeder came at him again.  _ Wait, where’s my sword?  _ Adolin looked around for the weapon. He caught the glint of it in a bush, where he must’ve left it when he shoved Kabsal out of the way.  _ I need to get to it.  _ Adolin ducked as Bleeder’s spike came at his head, then dove into the bushes, hand outstretched to grab the sword. He closed his hand around the hilt just as Bleeder’s hands wrapped around his ankles and dragged him back into the clearing. She dug her knees into Adolin’s shoulder blades, effectively pinning him down. Adolin raised his head, looking for Kabsal. He was nowhere to be seen.

Bleeder shoved his head back down into the dirt.

“Looking for your  _ boyfriend? _ ” She hissed. Adolin said nothing. He tensed as he felt the spike poke into the back of his neck. “Answer me, princeling.”

“I’m not a prince, and he’s not my boyfriend.” Adolin choked out. The spike’s pressure was removed from Adolin’s neck. 

“Then you shouldn’t mind that I killed him.” She said. Adolin squirmed.

“You didn’t.”

“I did!” Bleeder said gleefully. “I stabbed him!” She put the spike on Adolin’s back and began slowly driving it into him, just below his breastbone. Adolin gasped and tried to reach behind him to shove Bleeder off. Alas, he couldn’t reach without breaking his arms.

“Get off.” He said, wincing as Bleeder drove the spike in a bit more. He bit his lip until it bled.  _ I will not scream I will not scream I will not-- _

Bleeder’s weight suddenly disappeared off his back. Adolin scrambled to his feet. He came to the sight of Eshonai slitting Bleeder’s throat with his sword. Eshonai turned to Adolin, who immediately backed up in fear. 

“Relax, Kholin.” She said, as if Adolin’s family name was a curse. “I’m not going to kill you. Yet.” She handed him his sword.

“Where’s Kabsal?” He asked warily. Eshonai shrugged.

“No idea. He isn’t dead; the body would be right next to us.” Adolin nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Thanks for the assist, Eshonai. I’m thinking you might not be too bad of a partner.” 

“Then stop thinking about it. Team up with me.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

“Not right now.”

“Follow me.” Adolin and Eshonai went back through the undergrowth, leaving Bleeder’s body behind. Four of Kabsal’s six knives were still at the camp, so Adolin took one and gave Eshonai the other three. Suddenly, Adolin whirled and pressed Eshonai up to a tree, his forearm digging into her neck. “Eshonai.” He growled. “Remember, I’m the leader.  _ You  _ listen to  _ me. _ ” Don’t forget that.” He released her, and Eshonai fell to her knees momentarily before standing up.

“I won’t.” She said. Adolin nodded, satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A rustling caught Jasnah’s attention as she walked through the forest, brandishing her knife--she’d succumbed to leaving the axe behind-- and looking for Tributes. The rustling turned out to be a very unfortunate rabbit that was now dead and dangling from Jasnah’s hand. As she walked, something glistening red caught her attention. She made her way through shrubs to the object, finding it was a blood-covered arrow. Jasnah did remember that there was a Tribute who’d been shot during the Cornucopia bloodbath, but she hadn’t figured out who.  _ Huh.  _ She resumed her walk through the woods, searching. She heard something come up behind her, and spun, swinging her knife.

She collided with the neck of a Tribute. It was a boy, and judging by the axe in his hand, it was Elend from District 4. Elend fell to his knees, clutching feebly at his neck as his life bled out onto the ground. Jasnah ran, not wanting to witness the deterioration of someone in their final moments. Her hand, the one holding the knife, was shaking violently, but Jasnah clung onto the knife and willed her hand to stop shaking.  _ I just killed someone. _ She thought.  _ I barely even knew him.  _ Then she thought about the chances of Elend actually winning the Games.

“Maybe I did him a favor.” She whispered, more to convince herself than anything. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone’s coming.” Steris said. Marasi, who had been absentmindedly chewing on some berries that Steris had foraged and fiddling with the trigger on her pistol--much to Steris’ dismay--stood up. The two of them ran to the front of the cave, Marasi raising her pistol and pointing it into the slowly darkening woods. A figure came crashing through the undergrowth, and Marasi had to shove down her immediate reflex to pull the trigger when she saw the blond-and-black hair of the Tribute.

“Renarin?” She said in disbelief, lowering the pistol as Renarin was obviously unarmed. Renarin’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. Marasi noticed that his face was unusually flushed. 

“Please don’t shoot!” He exclaimed.

“I’m not going to shoot you, Renarin. You’re completely harmless, you don’t have a weapon.” Renarin cocked his head, confused. 

“Oh.” He said. “Thanks.”

“What happened to you?” Steris asked, pointing to where a bloody bandage was wrapped around Renarin’s arm. Renarin looked at it and shrugged.

“Someone shot me with an arrow. I yanked it out.” Steris’ eyes widened. Renarin then snapped his fingers, as if he was remembering something. “Right! I found some berries, I was wondering if you wanted them. Renarin took some of the berries from his pocket; they were wrapped in a plastic bag--who knows where he got it. He tossed the bag to Marasi and Steris. 

“Thanks. We are running a little low on food, we’ll eat them.” Marasi said, examining the berries. They looked like blueberries. “Well, you should go before I lose my patience and shoot you.” Marasi said. Renarin paled a little. 

“Okay. Thanks for not killing me.” He said, then laughed a little. Turning, he ran back into the forest. Marasi and Steris looked at each other.

“It was nice of you to accept the berries.” Steris said. “And to not shoot him.”

“Thanks.”

“Kabsal says compassion means you lose, though.”

“Kabsal’s a lunatic. Listening to anything he says makes  _ you _ a lunatic.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kabsal crouched in a tree, spying on Adolin and Eshonai. He watched with contempt as Adolin allied himself with Eshonai.  _ Fool. _ He held a knife in his hand, poised to throw it if necessary.  _ Nah. Not worth wasting a knife. _ He thought. When he’d come from the undergrowth to kill Bleeder, he hadn’t been expecting the girl to have such a strong arm--he was pretty sure there would be an ugly bruise on his stomach for the following days. Once Adolin had shoved him out of the way, he’d scrambled behind a tree, then scrambled  _ up _ the tree to watch the fight progress. Adolin almost immediately began losing, pinned to the ground by Bleeder and slowly being impaled (the back of Adolin’s jacket was now stained with blood, but Adolin didn’t seem to mind). And then Eshonai had appeared, like a storybook hero, and saved Adolin. And now they were allies. Kabsal suspected most Tributes would jump at the opportunity to ally themselves with a Career, especially someone from District 10 such as Eshonai. Even so, he was mildly hurt that Adolin forgot all about him that quickly. Kabsal diverted his attention to the network of tree branches that spanned above the ground and began to climb across, moving away from Adolin and Eshonai and towards the Cornucopia once again. After about an hour of climbing, Kabsal’s hands were raw and sore from grabbing branches, and he was dangerously close to wearing a hole in the knee of his pants. Luckily for him, he’d reached a spot where he could see the Cornucopia. He climbed back down the tree--a feat much more difficult than climbing up--and, making sure to keep his knives in his hands, walked into the clearing. The bodies that had been there the night before were gone, picked up by a plane sometime when the sky was so dark it would’ve been near impossible to spot them. Kabsal walked into the Cornucopia, feet squishing in the wet grass. He sat behind some boxes and waited.  _ Someone will come back here eventually. They always do. And when it happens, I’ll kill them. And I’ll win. _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renarin ran away from Marasi and Steris as fast as he could.  _ Just put some distance between us.  _ He thought. It was only going to be a matter of time before one or both of them were dead from the berries. And if it was only one, the other was bound to come after Renarin. His arm, which had been feeling better since he bandaged it, was beginning to throb. He’d already assumed it was going to be infected, but now he was sure of it. This was made more evident by the fact that Renarin was pretty sure he had a fever--based on the random feelings of being abnormally cold or hot at any given moments. Though Renarin knew first aid, there wasn’t all that much he could do with the plants in the forest.  _ There’s probably a plant here somewhere that can help. _ As he moved through the trees, he stepped on something that squished unnaturally under his foot. He looked down.

And had to cram his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming. He’d stepped on someone’s wrist, and the rest of the body was hidden behind some bushes. The only thing Renarin could actually see of them was an arm and a mutilated hand. He shuddered. He forced himself to look at the Tribute’s face, which was revealed to be Vin--the girl from 12. _Who could’ve… _Renarin stopped his thought before it had a chance to drag his imagination away. He took a moment to sit in silence next to Vin’s body before shaking himself and resuming his travels through the woods. He walked in relatively peaceful tranquility until a voice caught his attention.  
“Renarin! Renarin, help!” It was Jasnah’s voice. Renarin froze in his tracks. “Help!” He spun wildly around, trying to discern the direction Jasnah was in.

“Jasnah? Jasnah, I’m coming!” Renarin shoved any thoughts of doubt to the bottom of his mind and took off through the forest, miraculously not stumbling over a multitude of tree roots. 

“Renarin!” Jasnah screamed. 

“Hold on!” He yelled back. “I’m coming!”

“Hurry!” Renarin veered around a tree, coming to where he was sure Jasnah was. She was nowhere to be found. 

“Jasnah? Jasnah!” Renarin yelled, feeling increasingly anxious.

“Up here!” Renarin looked up, and was suddenly staring into the dark eyes of Wayne, District 12’s male Tribute, perched in a tree above him. Renarin had only moments to register that Wayne had flung a spear at his head, and he made the most of those moments. Renarin dove to the side, and Wayne’s spear made a  _ thud _ as it hit the ground. Wayne cursed loudly and began clambering down the tree to retrieve his spear. Renarin also began to run for the weapon, and he managed to pull it from the ground. It was heavier than he’d expected, so he stumbled back a little when he hefted it up to stab Wayne. Wayne cursed, and Renarin found himself wishing that Wayne would stop speaking too loudly; they were going to draw every other Tribute to them. Renarin jabbed the spear towards Wayne, who jumped back and began circling Renarin. Renarin tried to turn as fast as Wayne was circling, but his balance was off due to the spear, so Wayne did manage to get up behind him. Renarin let go of the spear and dropped to the ground. Wayne, who had been jumping with the intent to wrap his arms around Renarin’s waist and drag him to the ground, soared over Renarin. Renarin got to his feet and picked up the spear once more. He had just enough time to get a firm grip on it and turn towards Wayne before Wayne ran into the spear. Renarin, seeing how he’d just impaled someone, dropped the spear as if it was a hot iron and ran into the woods, leaving Wayne to die alone.

Renarin would’ve kept running until his legs fell off, if not for the fact that his arm was sending stabbing pains through his body at an uncannily fast rate. He eventually stopped, cradling his arm. Untying the bandage, he peeled off the bloody fabric to get a look at his wound. It was still fairly open, but it wasn’t oozing blood anymore. The skin around the wound was an angry red color, almost like a sunburn. Renarin winced as he was shot through with another wave of pain. He wrapped up his arm, flipping the bandages inside out so the least bloodied parts were touching his skin and the most bloodied parts were exposed to the air. He tied it off once more and stood up, pausing to lean against a tree to clear a sudden moment of lightheadedness.  _ I really need to find Jasnah,  _ he thought.  _ Or some medicine. _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marasi strode through the forest, pistol raised and on the lookout for Renarin’s traitorous little head. She and Steris had been about to eat the berries Renarin had given them, and Steris had eaten them first. She’d immediately started to claw at her throat, and Marasi had rushed to help her, though she was unsure of what to do. Steris had died before Marasi had a chance to do anything, and she was entirely sure it was Renarin’s fault.  _ How could I have been so stupid?  _ She asked herself, for what felt like the 100th time that day. The sun was setting on the Arena, and Marasi was determined to find a new place to camp out for the night. She was also looking for a place to stock up on bullets, as she’d used one on Kabsal at the Cornucopia and two more had been used when she’d heard a shuffling in the undergrowth and shot at the bushes--purely out of reflex. This left her with 2 more bullets, which would be enough to kill someone if she got off a good shot, but chances are she’d need both to kill one person. She was following the path that she guessed Renarin had taken after giving her and Steris the berries, and judging by the trail of crushed sticks and crumpled leaves (and the occasional, easily visible footprint), he’d been in a hurry to get as far away from her as possible. She continued to follow the trail until it became too dark to see anything on the ground, at which point she scaled a tree and, using a length of strong rope that she’d found in the satchel she’d grabbed at the Cornucopia, strapped herself to a branch of the tree so if she fell asleep she wouldn’t fall out of the tree--a terribly unpleasant way to wake up. She looked to the sky as the anthem of the Capitol began to play and they showed the faces of the Tributes that had been killed. The first face was from District 3, the boy Elend, Azure from District 4 being the next casualty. Then next was Steris, and seeing her face in the sky sent a wave of remorse through Marasi. Lift, the little girl from 7, appeared, and Marasi was surprised--she hadn’t seen any signs of the young Tribute throughout the Games. Then Bleeder’s face was in the sky, followed by Vin of District 12. 

“So, there were 6 dead yesterday, so let’s start with that. Then there’s Vin from 12, so that’s 7. Steris makes 8, and Azure makes 9. Bleeder is number 10, and then Elend is 11. 11 dead. We still have to kill 13--well, 12, since one of us isn’t going to die.” Marasi mused. “Who’s left?” She wondered. “Me, Adolin, that red haired girl from 2, the one from 6 with the knives--I think Steris said his name was Kabsal, the boy with the sock around his eyes, Renarin and Jasnah,” Marasi said their names with a venomous tone to her voice, “The boy who volunteered for his brother, Eshonai from 10, and that Tribute with the crazy name, and then that one from District 11…I don’t really remember much about him. Oh, and the one with all the accents.” Marasi racked her brain for information about the District 11 boy, and it came to mind that he’d gotten a 10 for his evaluation.  _ Hopefully someone else will take him out. Or I’ll have to get off a lucky shot. _ Marasi shifted around a little in her tree, trying to find a more comfortable way to perch on the rough branch. It soon became evident that Marasi was just going to have to deal with the discomfort of sleeping in a tree, or risk sleeping on the ground and being murdered while she slept. She went with the tree. 


	7. Steel Inquisitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I deleted this chapter and am going to repost it. Why? Because I decided I didn’t like the last chunk, so I rewrote it and that meant that this chapter was innacurate. So I’m reposting it; everything is the same up I just deleted a big chunk at the end. Sorry for any inconvenience

“Kholin!” Eshonai yelled. Adolin snapped awake.

“What?” He said, rubbing his eyes. “Quit yelling, someone’s going to find us.”

“Already happened. Get your sword and get up.” That was all the encouragement Adolin needed. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his sword, holding it out in front of him.

“Where?” 

“I’m pretty sure they’re right past those trees.” Eshonai said, gesturing towards a cluster of trees. Adolin nodded.

“Okay. Are you using the knives?” He asked. 

“Don’t have anything else.” A rustling diverted the two Tributes’ attention back to the forest. Adolin readjusted his grip, palms sweating. 

Something burst from the trees, coming straight for Adolin’s throat.

He ducked, feeling wind rush above his head. Eshonai shouted a very colorful curse, quite unbecoming of a lady. Adolin stole a glance at the Tribute attacking them, and realized instantly that it wasn’t a Tribute at all. It appeared to be a human, that is until you got up to their eyes. Well, what was in place of their eyes. Two metal spikes were driven through the creature’s eye sockets, the tips of the spikes protruding from the back of their head. Adolin realized with a jolt that the spikes were the same as the weapon Bleeder had driven into his  _ own _ back.  _ Where did she get it? Did she seriously  _ kill _ one of these?  _ Adolin had no time to contemplate where Bleeder’s weapon had come from, as the thing turned to him, grinning with razor-sharp teeth. Adolin felt a shiver ripple through him as he readied his sword at the creature’s heart. Eshonai was creeping up behind it, bleeding from a deep gash in her leg. Adolin fought to keep his gaze off of Eshonai as he stared at the creature. It leapt at him, and Adolin stepped to the side and slashed his sword. It made a small slice, but nothing close to fatal, in the creature’s pale skin. It hissed, looking at him once more. Adolin attacked, feinting to the left and slashing at the right. The creature  _ caught  _ his blade in one hand, and wrenched it out of Adolin’s grip and onto the ground. Adolin gaped at the sword embedded in the ground, and at the creature as it shook its hand, spattering blood onto the soil. It picked up Adolin’s sword, holding it as if it weighed nothing, and swung it inhumanly fast at Adolin’s neck. He fell to the ground, hitting the dirt so hard he saw stars. Eshonai shouted something unintelligible, almost a chant of sorts, and threw a knife at the creature. It ducked the blade without even turning to look at Eshonai. Adolin felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.  _ This thing can grab swords, and it dodged Eshonai’s knife like it’s been doing it since it was born. I might be outmatched.  _ The creature stabbed at the ground, towards Adolin’s heart, but he rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet.  _ I have to get a weapon.  _ Adolin frantically looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and saw Eshonai’s knife lying discarded about 10 feet from him. 10 feet was a distance Adolin could easily cover, but he had to worry about the spike-creature killing him as he tried to reach the knife. As if sensing what he wanted to do, the creature held out a hand towards the knife. Adolin watched with horror as it flew into the creature’s hand. In one fluid motion, the knife was whipped from the creature’s grip and directly into Eshonai’s stomach. She collapsed, trying to grasp at the knife and yank it out. Adolin’s eyes widened.  _ And now it can draw metal to it? Not fair--Oh no. My pin!  _ Adolin thought, growing increasingly terrified as the fight progressed. He ripped the pin from his jacket, tearing a hole in the green material, and threw it far into the woods. All of a sudden, completely without warning, the creature turned and flew away, as if it was being tugged on a string. Adolin was left to stare in awe at its receding form.  _ Eshonai! _ Adolin ran to her, shaking her shoulder, but it was no use. Eshonai was most definitely dead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wayne crashed through trees, scanning for some sort of opening in these god-forsaken trees. There was most definitely one of the spike-things chasing him, and he wanted to get as far away from it as possible before readying himself for a battle. Even with a stab wound just below his hip--poor Renarin did  _ not _ know how to use a spear--Wayne was fast, and he was sure he could outrun the creature. 

A knife thudded into a tree mere inches from his face. The creature was catching up. Wayne abandoned his spear, throwing it aside into the bushes, and ran with renewed vigor. He dashed behind a tree, holding his breath and standing as perfectly still as possible. The creature ran past him, and Wayne felt a flame of relief that was abruptly extinguished when the creature (Wayne was pretty sure it was some sort of of Ironeyes, but those were just stories that parents told to scare their kids, weren’t they?) turned and looked right at Wayne and charged.

Wayne leapt to the side, hearing a sickening  _ thud _ as the Ironeyes slammed into the tree.  _ That was almost me.  _ Wayne thought.  _ Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped my weapon back there.  _ He looked around, but there was absolutely nothing in the trees that could be used. Wayne cursed.  _ What do I know about Ironeyes from the stories?  _ He ducked as the Ironeyes came at him again.  _ Aha! I got it!  _ He dove through its legs, coming up behind it. Well, he  _ would’ve _ come up behind it if it hadn’t grabbed him.  _ What? How did it—shoot.  _ Wayne cursed again as he realized what had just happened. In the lore, Ironeyes could expend some form of energy that allowed them to see the future.  _ I’m screwed. I’m so screwed.  _ The Ironeyes threw Wayne against a tree, where he landed with a  _ crack _ .  _ Broken rib or two.  _ He thought, wincing. He dove to the side, but the Ironeyes grabbed his ankle, sending his face into the dirt. Wayne got to his feet, not moving. The Ironeyes did the same, which meant Wayne had a moment or two to think.  _ How do I. . .that’s it!  _ Wayne grinned as he remembered part of the Ironeyes myth. The Ascendant Warrior, a girl named Vin (who Wayne’s fellow Tribute was named for) had defeated an Ironeyes by using the future seeing to trick him into showing her where to attack. Wayne figured he’d try a similar thing. He feigned darting to the left, and saw with a burst of triumph that the Ironeyes also went to the left. Wayne spun and leapt to his  _ right _ , and it worked! Wayne had successfully tricked an Ironeyes!  _ Now to actually do something productive with this.  _ Wayne did his fake-dash-then-real-dash thing again, and he was now completely behind the Ironeyes. He quickly clambered up its back, wincing as his rib--which if it hadn’t been broken before most definitely was now--sent a pang of pain through him. He was now sitting on the Ironeyes shoulders, and it had frozen, confused as to how Wayne had gotten up. Wayne looked with distaste at the line of iron spikes along its shoulders.  _ Which one of these is the right one… _ He gripped the head of a spike, one near the Ironeyes’ right shoulder, and started pulling.

The Ironeyes screeched. It was a bloodcurdling, ear-piercing sound, and Wayne knew immediately that it had figured out what he was trying to do.  _ Better hurry this up.  _ He managed to yank out a spike, and the Ironeyes screeched again, but it didn’t die. It did, however, walk backwards into a tree in an attempt to get Wayne off of it. Wayne shouted in pain, but stayed on its back. He went for another spike, one right in the center. His fingers touched it, and the Ironeyes went  _ crazy _ . It started shrieking and banging into things, and Wayne knew he’d found the right spike. 

He pulled, and the Ironeyes screamed. Wayne was shocked at the near-human quality of the sound, and he momentarily lost his grip on the spike. The Ironeyes took this as an opportunity to throw Wayne off, and backpedaled into another tree. This time, it was Wayne who screamed, feeling a bone or two break on the heavy impact.  _ I’ve gotta kill this thing!  _ He scrambled to grab the spike, but his fingers kept slipping.  _ Come on, rusting thing! Come loose!  _ Wayne’s fingers finally managed to get a good grip on the spike, but at this point, Wayne could feel his consciousness starting to fade.  _ Not dying yet.  _ He sternly told himself. He kept pulling.

The spike came loose. Wayne tossed it to the ground as the Ironeyes let out one final screech, collapsing. Dead. Wayne shakily got to his feet, stumbling backwards and catching himself against a tree. He slid to the ground and sat up against said tree, breathing hard. He spit some blood onto the ground.  _ That’s not good.  _


	8. Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, surprise, I didn’t abandon this and so I actually finished it! Please, reread chapter seven as I reposted it with some key things taken out
> 
> Mostly, Jasnah meeting Renarin was taken out and I rewrote the scene here in chapter 8

After hiding from one of the terrible spike-things in a cave, Jasnah was thoroughly fed up with being in constant fatal danger. The creature had been mere feet away from Jasnah’s face, and yet it hadn’t seemed to notice her. She’d waited a few minutes, to ensure the thing was actually gone, she’d carefully walked out of the cave, holding her knife so tightly her knuckles turned white. 

Now, Jasnah was trekking through the forest in search of other Tributes to kill. And possibly to find Renarin, as she knew he wasn’t dead yet. Well, she hoped. There was no real way of knowing if the creatures had killed him.  _ Stop. He’s smart, I’ll be he got away.  _ She thought, more to convince herself than anything. She’d listened to the screaming and shouting of the Tributes from inside her cave, and was pretty sure just about everyone had been attacked by one. She’d also heard a scream that sounded as if the spike-creature had been hurt, but that just didn’t make sense. The things didn’t seem to feel pain. 

“Where should I go?” She wondered aloud, still keeping her voice low. “Should I return to the Cornucopia? Explore the forest?” Jasnah wasn’t sure where her brother would be, but she assumed he hadn’t gone back to the Cornucopia, so she decided to stay away from it.  _ The forest will have to do. It’s not like there’s anything else in this storming arena.  _ As she traveled, Jasnah took great care to make sure her knife was held tightly in her hands. 

“Tributes!” Paalm’s voice boomed. Jasnah dropped her knife. “After yesterday’s adventures, the Cornucopia has been restocked! There will be a special little something for each of you there, so be sure to show up quickly!” The voice  _ clicked _ off, leaving Jasnah in moderate silence (there was still chirping of birds and flowing of water that could be heard). She sighed, fingering her dark hair.  _ I should go to the Cornucopia then.  _ She decided.  _ I don’t have much else to do, and whatever’s there for me could be helpful. _ Jasnah turned, taking off through the forest. 

She reached the Cornucopia only mildly out of breath. The silver structure in question had been adorned with a collection of backpacks. Each had a different number printed on it: an 11, a 9, two 8s, a 6, and two 1s. Jasnah crouched in the bushes surrounding the Cornucopia, waiting to see if anyone would show themselves. The boy from 11 did, running out into the clearing and snatching up his backpack. 

What surprised Jasnah was that the boy also grabbed a backpack with a 1 on it. 

“Hey!” A voice called. Adolin emerged from the undergrowth, wielding a massive sword. “That’s mine, hands off.”

“Make me.” The boy snarled, drawing a long knife. Adolin raised the sword, assuming a surefooted stance. The boy—Jasnah remembered his name was Kelsier—sneered at Adolin before running forward almost inhumanly fast, and leaping over a slash of Adolin’s blade. 

A line of blood welled up on Adolin’s cheekbone. Adolin grit his teeth, turning and slamming his sword into the ground. Even from close to twenty feet away, Jasnah could feel the ground shake. Kelsier tripped, rolling with the fall and springing back up.  _ He’s good.  _ Jasnah thought.  _ Almost makes me wish Adolin would kill him.  _ The two Tributes sparred, Adolin taking a lot more hits than Kelsier did. However, Adolin wasn’t suffering any fatal injuries. Kelsier was only managing to land scratches and scrapes. Adolin, on the other hand, had smashed Kelsier’s arm with the flat of his blade, and the other boy had to attack with only one hand. 

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.” Adolin laughed. Without warning, Kelsier lunged forward and stabbed his blade into Adolin’s chest. The Career’s eyes widened. 

“Is that hard enough for you?” Kelsier spat. Adolin, fingers shaking, grabbed his sword. Kelsier leapt backwards, but not before the sword managed to slice his chest. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it was staining his shirt red. Kelsier turned, sweating, and began to retreat into the woods with his two backpacks.

A knife flew through Kelsier’s throat, dropping the boy to the ground. Kabsal walked out from the Cornucopia, twirling another knife between his fingers. 

“You forgot to check for hiders.” He said. Jasnah instinctively shrunk backwards into the bushes. Kabsal continued monologuing to Kelsier, who was already dead (so it made for a very disturbing sight). Jasnah snuck through the outskirts, dashing forwards to grab her backpack. She grabbed it, slinking back into the forest without being seen. 

At least, without being seen by Kabsal. Jasnah almost ran right into her brother—

Storms, her  _ brother _ . 

“Renarin!” She exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth as she realized Kabsal could probably hear her. 

“Hi, Jasnah.” Renarin said quietly. His face was flushed and shone with sweat. He was swaying slightly as he stood. 

“Are you okay?”

“Not… really.” He confessed. “I got shot by an arrow at the Cornucopia. The wound got infected.”

“Come on, then. I grabbed a backpack; it’ll probably help you out too. Let’s just get away from Kabsal.”

“Don’t think about leaving, girl!” Kabsal shouted. Jasnah froze. “I know you’re there, and I know you found your stupid little brother. Come out to where I can see you.” Jasnah looked at Renarin, eyes wide, and made a shooing motion with her hands. The siblings began creeping away from the Cornucopia, until a flash of metal flew past them. Renarin turned to his sister, a slice spread across the side of his face. “I can hit your brother.” Kabsal said. “Don’t make me do it again.” 

“Jasnah, don’t you dare.” Renarin hissed. Jasnah gave him an apologetic look and walked from the bushes, Renarin trailing but staying in the shadows. 

“That’s better.” Kasbal purred. Jasnah pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling sick. “It will certainly make it easier for me to hit you.”  _ Wait, what?  _ Jasnah only had a split-second to think before a blade was coming at her. 

Jasnah stared Kasbal right in the face, unwilling to show vulnerability even as her death flew towards her. 

But the knife never struck. 

Never struck her, that is. 

Renarin had jumped in front of her. 

The knife buried itself in her little brother’s gut, sinking up to the hilt. Renarin fell to his knees, clutching at the blade. 

“Renarin!” Jasnah cried, crouching beside her brother. Renarin coughed, and Jasnah’s hands became stained with red. 

“Please, Jasnah.” Renarin whispered. “Please win.” Jasnah blinked tears from her eyes, nodding. 

“I will, baby brother.” She promised. “I won’t let you down.” Renarin smiled at her.

“Good.” And just like that, in the blink of an eye, Renarin Kholin was dead. Jasnah grabbed the knife, pulling it from her brother’s corpse and forcing herself to look away from the tide of blood that began soaking his shirt. She whipped her head around to look at Kabsal, who paled ever so slightly. Jasnah bared her teeth at him. Kabsal threw another knife—he must have had at least six—but Jasnah  _ slapped  _ it out of the air as if it was a fly. She ran at Kabsal, ducking under yet another blade.    
Within moments, the dead form of Kabsal was lying at her feet. Jasnah grabbed the other 8 backpack, as well as a 1 and the 6. She retreated inside the Cornucopia to open them, a collection of daggers and knives from Kabsal strewn about in front of her. The backpack for Adolin contained a pair of fresh boots, which Jasnah slipped onto her feet. Kabsal’s had a glyphward and the most intricate blade she’d ever seen: the hilt was gilded, and the actual blade itself was shimmering silver and carved with designs. The glyphward was for the symbol ‘peace’.

Jasnah ripped it to shreds.

The backpacks for District 8 had two jars of medical salve, one for her and one for Renarin, presumably. Jasnah laughed bitterly upon opening them.  _ A little late.  _ She crushed both containers under her new boots. 

She stood, grabbing the beautiful knife. She then proceeded to stab puncture holes in the other backpacks, hopefully damaging whatever was inside. 

Jasnah Kholin prowled from the Cornucopia and disappeared into the woods. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaladin winced as he opened his backpack. It had clearly once contained a pair of gloves, which would’ve been nice—considering that girl from 2, Shallan, had stolen them from him early in their short-lived alliance (Shallan had been killed by one of the spike-creatures). Unfortunately, the backpack was full of holes, rendering its contents almost useless.  _ Better than nothing.  _ He conceded, putting on the torn gloves. 

Going to the Cornucopia had been quite a shock. His backpack had been the only one left, but that hadn’t been surprising. He’d purposely shown up late to increase his chances of not running into any Tributes. 

No, the real shock had been the four bodies lying in the grass. Adolin was one, dead from a blade in his chest. Kelsier had been impaled, and was facedown in the grass. Renarin Kholin had a stab wound in his chest as well, though the blade was missing. And Kabsal… Kabsal was horrific. His chest was pockmarked with holes, and his face was marred by slashes. Whoever had killed him had not been having a good day. Kaladin still shuddered thinking about the sheer amount of blood that had stained the grass. 

Blood that could’ve easily become his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marasi opened the blue backpack, relieved to see that its contents were intact despite the condition of the backpack itself. There were a couple boxes of ammunition within the backpack, as well as a second pistol. She loaded both weapons, storing the excess bullets in the pocket of her jacket.  _ Time to go win. _ She thought.

Marasi wandered through the forest, coming across no other Tributes. Beside the four dead at the Cornucopia, she hadn’t seen a Tribute in a day or so.  _ I wonder how many of them are actually dead.  _

The spike-creatures had been a problem for her, because it seemed to be able to sense her pistol and ammunition. She could vaguely recall a bedtime story about a creature with spikes driven into its eye sockets, but other than that she hadn’t known what to do in terms of avoiding the creature. She’d shot at it, but her aim had been shaky and the bullet had glanced off its face.  _ I’m lucky to still be alive.  _ She shuddered as she recalled the face of the creature, staring at her with its disgusting and inhuman eyes. 

If metal spikes could be considered eyes, that is. 

As Marasi passed a cave, she heard what she thought to be a crackling fire. Holding her pistol close to her head, Marasi peeked into the cave. She could see flames flickering just around a corner, their light bouncing off the cave walls. She bent down, taking off her heavy boots to help minimize any sound she might make. 

She came around the corner, both pistols held before her—as she was expecting a Tribute to jump at her with a knife. 

Instead, she saw the sleeping form of a boy beside the fire. She vaguely remembered him from training, as the one Tribute who never seemed to get tired. In fact, his District partner had claimed that he hadn’t slept at all. Which would explain how he seemed almost unconscious now, probably exhausted. 

Marasi couldn’t blame him. Running for your life was tiring work. 

“Do I really want to do this?” She asked herself quietly. “Do I really want to kill someone?”

The boy answered her question for her. He snapped awake, grabbing a long sword and lunging towards her. Marasi reacted by pointing both pistols and pulling both triggers, almost deafening her with the loud double  _ bangs  _ that echoed through the cave. 

The boy, who hadn’t even had much of a chance to wake up, would not be waking up again. 

Then Marasi heard an inhuman snarl behind her. 

“Tough luck, child.” A dark haired girl said, before a knife impaled Marasi’s forehead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Jasnah looked down at the body of the girl with the guns. She gave it a hard kick, grinning, before striding from the cave as if she didn’t have a care in the world. 

“And there you have it, folks!” Paalm’s voice called. “The Victor of the 53rd Hunger Games, Jasnah Kholin!” A large, glimmering silver plane approached Jasnah from the sky, lowering down a cage that would take her back to the Capitol so she could recuperate and sit through another one of Wit’s interviews before returning to District 8. 

Where she would spend the rest of her days in numb and agonized loneliness. 

Jasnah climbed into the cage, leaning her head back against the bars. 

“I won, Ren.” She said. Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. “I won for you.”


End file.
